


The Fox and the Skylark (or how to reveal a conspiracy with good company)

by CarpathianManul



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Humor, Looooots of angst, Minor Character Death, Origin Story, Original Character-centric, Slow Burn, but gamewise it's quite AU, more or less canon bookwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 87,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpathianManul/pseuds/CarpathianManul
Summary: The state of the free Pontar Valley has been officially declared at Loc Muinne; however, they are only at the beginning of a long road. The kingdom has yet to strengthen its position, not only by military force, but diplomatically as well - and Iorveth, as the general of the newly founded state, faces the bitter consequences of politics when he is being accused of treason and demanded to be extradited, in exchange for an important alliance.Ildico, the smuggler, a friend and supplier to the sorceress Triss Merigold, agrees to take a seemingly five-minute job that finally leads to an old enemy. The chance of revenge offers deliverance to the free state of the Pontar Valley as well. Ildico, Triss, Geralt, the witcher and Iorveth soon embark on a journey which can save Saskia's state and clear Iorveth from the charges, but the smuggler has her reasons, and the question if she can be truly trusted remains an open one.As their fates entwine, Ildico is forced to face her long-buried past and Iorveth must remember what he is fighting for.****Set after the conclusion of Witcher 2, but before the beginning of Witcher 3.





	1. Prologue

Someone’s been knocking at the door for a couple of minutes.

‘Plough yourself, who the hell is this?’ the elf murmured as he sleepily stumbled to the door. ‘We’re in the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake!’

‘We are, as well, and we would love to spend it under a roof.’ a hoarse voice came from beyond the door.

The elf instantly sobered. He hastily opened the door.

‘I wasn’t expecting you.’ he said to the human entering the house, then froze at once, looking at what he was carrying. ‘What the…’

The elf has never seen a bigger man than him, so the contrast between him and the skinny creature lying unconsciously in his arms was even more striking. Her face was white as the moon, speckled with blood - probably her own.

‘Isn’t this…’ the elf said, but the human interrupted him.

‘Yes, it’s her. Where can I put her down?’

The elf silently led him to one of the back rooms. A dwarf was awakening in his bed there.

‘Saeros, what is the meaning of this…’ he growled angrily. ‘Why…‘

He immediately stopped when he recognized the human and his cargo.

‘Don’t just stand there, man, put her down here!’ he snapped and quickly adjusted the linen on a third bed in the corner. ‘There.’

The huge man walked to the bed and put the girl down gently. She coughed in her unconsciousness, folding her arm in front of her. The elf and the dwarf were horrified, looking at her torso.

‘For Melitele’s heart, I’ve seen some shit before, but now I think I’m going to be sick.’ the elf murmured.

'Then puke at the lavatory, you'll make stench here.' the dwarf growled. 'Bring my medical supplies when you are finished!'

He looked at the human.

‘What happened to her?’

‘I will tell you later. Now I have things to do. I will return soon.’

‘And the commander?’

The human sneered. His yellow cateyes glowed in the dim firelight.

‘The commander is no longer my employer.’

‘I see.’ the dwarf nodded then looked at the girl again. ‘Does anyone know she’s here?’

‘No one. I made sure of it.’ the human said. ‘Treat her, my friends. Help her. I will cover all your expenses.’

The dwarf's eyes flickered.

'So she cannot go back.'

‘A brilliant deduction.’ The man nodded. ‘Don't worry. She'll manage. She's a smart one.’

‘All right.’ The dwarf said. ‘Go then, my friend. Don’t be late. You can count on us.’

‘Thank you.’

With that, the man left the room and in an instance, the door closed behind him.


	2. Where to start a story if not at its end

**Novigrad, 1273, June**

_"_ _Her flowing auburn hair and hazel eyes have found a home in the woodland realms; and the wanderer of the wild forests walked and danced through all kingdoms far and wide. One day a beautiful melody awakened her from her dream she was having on the bed of a green-green glade; the wind brought a flute's song to her, and as she followed the tune, she sang the melody along with the music. And walking on the path of the tune, she met the proud elven warrior, the legendary Aen Seidhe, playing the flute and luring her into his arms; and doom fell on him, for he saw the stars glimmering in her eyes, and he called her by her true name that no one knew but him: 'Skylark, my Skylark!"_

'So? What do you think, Ildico?' Dandelion asked _._

The woman put down the parchment and looked at the bard. She frowned, her face wrinkled with embarrassment.

'Ahem.' she said dryly. 'I didn't realize you were writing the next issue of 'Naughty in Novigrad'.

The bard looked confused.

'I suppose that doesn't count as a thumb up.'

'Cheers to your observance, friend. Pity you do not use it more often.'

The bard obviously took offense.

'But why?' he asked. 'I think it is beautiful!'

'Beautiful is not exactly the characteristic I have been searching for.' she said sourly. 'Last time we spoke, you told me you would tell the tell of our fun time in the Cysgodol Palace!'

'Of course I am doing that!' Dandelion said. 'But admit it, you cannot expect me to overlook the ending of that adventure!'

She buried her face in her hands. 'I'll never escape that ending.'

'But why should you escape it?' Dandelion said. 'Imagine, a new tale of legendary, star-crossed lovers… a classic, like the story of Lara Dorren!'

'Yeah, because I so desire to have my fingers cut off while I'm expecting the child of my dead lover.' she shuddered.

'Stories need some tensions, Ildi.' Dandelion sneered. 'This is about art! Dramaturgy! Making the story stronger!' he said.

'I sense a serious collision of interpretations here.' she murmured.

'Do you want to tell me how to do my job?' the bard asked angrily.

Ildi rolled her eyes.

'I'm just saying this is not how the whole thing happened, and if your memory is really so heavily burdened with holes, I can tell you how it happened…again... with more dramaturgy, if you want!'

Dandelion waved.

'Be my guest…' he growled.

_So where should I start? My name is Ildico Ferenczy. Right now, at least. I had an old life before this as well, but that's not for the weak hearts. I know that you know it, but please, don't make your audience know it.  
_

_After I began my new life, I needed a living. People need things, and I am good at getting things, particularly because I still had my old friends and they still kinda liked me - it pays off not to be a jerk, you know. Literally as well as metaphorically. So I became a smuggler. Soon others started to do jobs for me, and one day I found myself leading a coterie. We called ourselves the Songbirds, because we identified each other with bird chirps, whistles or even short sung tunes when needed. Don't roll your eyes, there are stupider names for an underground organization. And no, we didn't only accept derailed opera singers._

_Okay, back to my own story. So at that time, I had a relatively big network under my hand and the upper social classes started to take notice of us as well. We could get rare medicines, weapons…yet you know my charm, I managed to keep things fairly under the desk. I had many advantages. Long story short, during my work, I met one of the Lodge; our lovely Triss Merigold. She was an ideal client and a friend. You know how things go in our cruel little world: friendships are formed on the base that you have traveled some time together, had fun, killed a few, drank through some nights, held each other's hair while vomiting and didn't even want to stab each other in the back while doing so. You may never meet again, but still, you remember each other as friends. Ah, the feelings._

_Luckily, with Triss, we met frequently and soon she commanded my services to Vernon Roche, head of the Temerian special forces as well. He let me do my business freely; in turn, I supplied him with rare items and components - and connections, when needed. And no, he never knew about my trading business with the Scoia'tael. I'd really appreciate if it would stay like that if you ever meet that kind gentleman again, understand me, dear Dandelion? I am not a hav'caaren*, and I do not intend to become one._

_So, Roche requested my services when Foltest, king of Temeria attacked the La Valette castle. A slain king, a falsely accused witcher, a trip to the depth of the Pontar Valley, following the kingslayer's trail - you already know that story._

_Our ship landed and we started out our way to the forest to Flotsam, alongside with Triss and your well-known friend Geralt, who failed to be the lucky charm of Foltest._

_It seemed like a refreshing walk among the woods. Morning sunshine, thick vegetation, birds chirping, a catchy tune in the background - someone in the distance was playing their flute. It was so beautiful, I had to hum along it. The whole situation was so perfect, a beautiful forest, a hunt for a murderer, why wouldn't have I topped it? Cliché is best served hot._

_Needless to say, Vernon Roche had no sense for romance._

_'Hush, Miss Ferenczy, for fuck's sake, I'm starting to think that your professionalism is only humbug! This is the territory of Iorveth, an infamous Scoia'tael leader! Do you want to run into his arms? Anyone can hear us!' he snapped at me._

_I rolled my eyes and shrugged._

_'Good sir, berry-picking peasants will not care.' I said. 'And if there are elves nearby, they have probably known about us since the very moment we entered their forest, and there must be a reason they haven't attacked us yet.' I smiled at him. 'Might be my singing, as far as we know!'_

_'Consider me pleased.' Roche said dryly, then stopped. He looked around._

_The tune still played. And at moment, I sensed the unspoken threat behind the captivating melody._

_I put my hand on the grip of my long daggers; sparkles ran around Triss's fingers as she prepared a spell. Roche and Geralt also kept their weapons at hand, as well as our soldiers. And as we turned on the path, we were facing the rising sun behind the trees, a fallen log, arching the pathway, and on the log - an elven man was playing his flute. He wore full armor and a red scarf on his head. He must have seen that we arrived, but didn't care about us at all, he seemed to immerse in the music. The sunrays gave an impressive frame to his proud figure. I admit I felt a flicker of admiration._

_'See, Vernon, why aren't we talking about his professionalism?' I asked the Temerian special forces leader quietly._

_'That would be an interesting topic indeed.' Roche stepped forward, just to be taken notice of at last._

_The elf-man looked us, put away his instrument and stood up. Now I noticed that the scarf was hiding his right eye; probably a huge scar which couldn't be completely hidden by the cloth as it ran down to the right corner of his lips._

_'Vernon Roche!' the elf shouted. He had clearly been an old acquaintance of our good Temerian. 'Special forces commander for the last four years! Servant of the Temerian king! Responsible for the pacification of the Mahakaman foothills! Hunter of elves, murderer of women and children! Twice decorated for valor in the field of battle!'_

_'What a parade.' Triss whispered to me._

_'He could learn my resumé as well.' I whispered back. 'Might save me the fatigue of introducing myself when I meet new people.'_

_Roche interrupted the elf._

_'Iorveth - a regular son of a whore!'_

_I looked at the prideful elf-man again; so we really stood in front of the famous Scoia'tael leader. He didn't really put himself out for Roche's insult._

_'I've long awaited our meeting! Laid plans, set traps… and now you walk into my forest of your own volition!' he continued._

_'You aided the man who slew my king!' Roche shouted back._

_'King or beggar, what's the difference? One d'hoine less!'_

_'Climb down from that pole and let's finish this, like men do!' Roche continued the quarrel, but Iorveth laughed at him._

_'Duel is for the honourable, Roche, and you are not an honourable man! You're an insect I shall crush, alongside with that ill-breeded mutant, that redhaired bitch and that lousy skylark of a whore!'_

_You know, in my profession, insults are part of the fringe benefits. I can say that I heard some varieties for this topic, but this was nowhere in line with the best, the only effect it had on me that it made me giggle. Do skylarks even have lice?_

_But Vernon Roche, somewhere deep inside, was a true gentleman._

_'I will not have you insult my comrades!'_

_'You should meddle your own business, elf!' The witcher finally found the chance to interrupt. 'You are just spouting the same old elven drivel again!'_

_Iorveth, finally, seemed a little dumbfounded; clearly he wasn't expecting another d'hoine to cut him off._

_'What do you mean, witcher?' he snarled._

_From now on, you know what Geralt had told him. He reminded Iorveth of the inglorious participance of the Vrihedd Brigade in the Nilfgaardian war, hinting that the situation is no different today - the Scoia'tael is used again, as idealists are always used by those who have a more downward grasp of the world._

_When both parties are armed, seldom does the truth lead to peace - to summarize it, we had to fight our way through the forest. Somehow we managed to get to Flotsam, the elves didn't follow us there._

_I looked up to the hillside where the elven commander stood, watching us._

_And a man was standing next to him._

_'It's the Kingslayer.' Geralt murmured._

_'The Kingslayer…' I echoed his words, and he immediately noticed the trembling in my voice._

_'Do you know him, Ildico?' he asked._

_I stared at the distant figures, thoughts running around in my head._

_'I… don't know, Geralt. I'm not sure.' I replied._

_He looked at me thoughtfully._

_'We must know everything about him.'_

_I looked back, though I felt my tongue turning into stone._

_'I will mobilize my songbirds.' I said._

_He nodded to me, then turned to Roche, leaving me to my thoughts. I looked at the hillside again._

_The figures disappeared by then._

_If that man was the one I thought him to be…_

_At that moment, Triss came up to me, and grabbed my arm._

_'Couldn't you have just mention Iorveth that you were the main medicine supplier of the Scoia'tael troops near Vizima? That might have made an impression on him.'_

_'I'm so sure Vernon Roche also would have loved that information about me.' I grinned. 'And you know, actually not all Scoia'tael leaders like each other. I happen to know by chance that the bloke who replaced Yaevinn in Vizima had a misfortunate accident with this gallant soldier we have just met, including a lot of beer, a necropsied kikimore, some badly wounded drunkards and a couple of caramel doughnuts.'_

_Triss stared at me in shock._

_'And contrary to how it sounds, it was ugly.' I added._

_'We'll stay on good terms, dear girl, provided you never tell me this story.' she smirked._

_So, this is how it started. It was a long, long way, because as you know, I didn't have the opportunity to fight alongside you in Vergen. But as soon as I could join you; after the siege - my story truly began._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hav'caaren: The Havekar (Elder Speech: hav'caaren), also known as hawkers, are opportunistic smugglers who sell arms and supplies to the Scoia'tael at high prices, lining their own pockets on the misfortune of others. (Witcher Wiki)
> 
> -Note: You can listen to the exact pronounciation of Ildico's name, if you write it into the Google translator (the source language should be Hungarian). 
> 
> -I thought a little Tolkien-parody would fit, as there are constantly fourth wall jokes about it ingame. (Don't get me wrong, I love the tale of Beren and Luthien, but hey, why not?)


	3. Breakfast is delayed - let's talk

**Vergen, 1271, August**

The morning sunrays painted gleaming spots on the stone walls and the city streets. Vergen, the town built in stone, was awakening.

There were still remaining signs of the battle; broken walls, blunt weapons, dark patches of blood spilt. Still, life has refused to give up: craftsmen and merchants opened their shops, the bakeries and the inn opened, the smell of freshly baked bums flew along the street. Slowly, the sound of chatter filled the streets as the inhabitants woke up and started their days.

Geralt has been lying awake for a couple of hours, staring at the wall of his chamber. Having quite a few things on his mind, he was thinking. He heard Triss slowly breathing behind him; she was in a deep slumber. He didn't want to wake her, so he got up and dressed cautiously, not making any noises, then left the room.

'Morning, Master Geralt!' The innkeeper greeted him. 'Wanna have some breakfast?'

'Morning, master dwarf!' Geralt waved back. 'Sure, why not.'

'Just gimme half an hour.' the dwarf growled. 'The chicken ran away again and there's no scrambled eggs without 'em.'

Geralt laughed.

'All right, master dwarf. I'll take a walk and return soon.'

He headed out of the Cauldron and slowly walked the streets of the town. He would have felt naked without his swords, so he always wore them, but it was a strange feeling that there was, in fact, no need to use them; at least in the upcoming days. He knew he had to set forth, to find his way… to find Yennefer, whatever would that bring.

Yet he felt he owed himself and especially Triss a few days of rest. A few days, before the storm is released again.

 _Somehow it's never peace and quiet_.

He walked up on the ancient stone steps leading to the city wall and noticed a lonely figure with his elbows on the rampart. His leaf-shaped ears moved as he heard Geralt approaching and he gave a quick side glance - only to recognize him and let the momentary tenseness go.

_He is a warrior prepared to death at every corner. Just like me._

'What is it, Iorveth?' Geralt greeted the elf. 'Glancing hopelessly into the distance? Shouldn't you do that with the Lady Saskia with on your side?'

Iorveth rolled his eyes.

'Just when the hell will you stop mocking me with that, dh'oine?'

'You're such a tease, friend.' Geralt said. 'What can lie beneath the mountains that you are craving for so much?'

'I am not craving for anything. I was thinking.'

Geralt put his elbows on the rampant, next to the elf.

'Care to tell about it?'

Iorveth took a long pause before he answered.

'Remember what you told me at our first encounter in the woods of Flotsam?'

'When Triss turned your deadly arrows into cute butterflies?

'Ass.' A hint of smile crossed the elf's face. 'You called me another old elf, who repeats the same old diatribe again and again, that my people are always used against someone and never for our cause. Dol Blathanna would have been a solution, but it turned out to be another bitter experience. And now, here I am, standing in a town where all can come true what I really hoped for and I'm already searching for the cracks.' Iorveth looked at the witcher gravely. 'As your bastard kingslayer friend showed with Foltest and Demavend that no one is untouchable, Loc Muinne showed that this includes Saskia as well. And it is not a comforting thought, witcher. Not at all.'

'Everything can crumble in a blink of an eye. That doesn't mean that you should lose your faith.'

'You, talking to me about faith?' Iorveth smiled sadly. 'Faith is for the young, Geralt. I've seen too much to be hopeful.' He shook his head. 'Nilfgaard is once again at our gates... though this time they will not have the aid of the Scoia'tael, I'll make sure of it. But what then? What if the free Pontar Valley will not stand the test of time? What if I dragged Saskia into some bloody nonsense romantic dream?'

Geralt allowed himself a faint smile.

'My friend, as you yourself are the embodiment of a bloody romantic nonsense, that wouldn't be so surprising.'

'Not like you haven't approved many of my actions before, so shut up.' The elf shrugged. 'You really don't know what I mean?'

Geralt sighed.

'You stand upon the precipice of a huge change in your life. For a hundred years, you have been hiding in the woods, fighting, fearing for your life and the life of your subjects, defending your territories... in the end, perhaps no one could have distinguished you from a smelly arachas...'

'Have you actually taken a bath in the past two weeks, vatt'ghern?'

'...and now you have a hope of a home in front of you. But we all know how things work in politics, and I am not surprised that you are full of doubts. In facts, I think it is the sanest thing you have done until now.' Geralt put his hand on his friend's shoulder. 'Yes, Iorveth, I absolutely understand what you mean.'

The elf lowered his head. Geralt nearly felt sorry for him.

'Saskia's dream doesn't seem to be hopeless though.' he said. 'We freed her, her realm is safe, at least for now. Even foreign affairs are not going so bad as I have expected them to go after Loc Muinne. And that guy who arrived from Dol Blathanna, as an ambassador to Francesca Findabair? To acknowledge the independence of Saskia's country?'

Iorveth growled irately.

'Arondir aep Tavassoth, yes.' he said. 'Never liked that bloke too much. He is Francesca's man, his views do not differ from hers. I wouldn't trust him for a moment. And besides, why would Dol Blathanna acknowledge the independence of Vergen, if not for some interest of the bloody nilfgaardians? It is hardly even more than a duchy in Aedirn, I'm not even sure it has the right to do so.'

'But Arondir was so kind to you in council.' Geralt said. 'I so felt the affection radiating.'

'As I said, Francesca's man.' Iorveth replied dryly. 'That means, whatever he says, he wishes the Scoia'tael six feet under.'

Geralt let him think for a moment, then tapped on his back.

'Nothing a good pint of ale cannot remedy, Iorveth. Let's go down to the inn and have something for breakfast.'

For the first time in the morning, Iorveth's face cheered up.

'Well, that's a definitely good thing in Vergen.' He said as they descended on the stairs from the city wall. 'At least I can eat through a good meal without an arrow being aimed at my throat.'

They headed through the city in a much lighter mood. As they turned into the Cauldron's street, they noticed a smaller gathering in front of the inn's gates. Geralt soon recognized the faces of his loyal friends, Dandelion, Zoltan; even Triss was there, still wearing her nightshirt above her trousers. She was holding an auburn-haired woman who seemingly had arrived within a minute; her horse was gleaming with sweat and she herself looked quite tired as well. However, she happily laughed at the people greeting her.

'Your smuggler friend has arrived.' Iorveth said in a toneless voice.

Geralt gave his friend a barely recognizable half smile. 'So I guess I can't expect a reprise of what you two performed in the forest of Flotsam.'

The elf angrily murmured something under his nose.

'Do you still hold grudges for her?' Geralt asked. 'After what she has done?'

'She's done nothing special and I never held grudges for her.' the elf answered. 'She behaved exactly how I expected. She left when we needed her the most.'

'She had her reasons, Iorveth.'

The elf grunted again.

'Reasons? Of course. She's just like an average dh'oine. She is your friend, Gwynbleidd, this is why I tolerate her, but don't expect me to like her. I don't even understand why you do.'

Geralt hesitated for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

'I am happy that she is finally here, Iorveth.' he said. 'I'd appreciate it if you would at least pretend that she doesn't bother your circles.'

Iorveth shook his head.

'I don't trust this woman. Too shady, too many question marks around her.' he said.

'Well then, she should take my place.' Geralt said. 'A witcher always should be shady, mysterious and never take sides.'

'And yet here you are, bloede dh'oine.' Iorveth smiled. 'Can't say I'm bothered by that, though.'


	4. A short flashback

**Flotsam forest, 1271, April**

_'I cannot go to Vergen with you.'_

_It was late at night. We met at the waterfall near Lobinden. The voice of the crying people in Flotsam could be heard from this distance as well. The pogrom unleashed hell._

_Geralt, as I presumed, looked at me startled._

_'Why?' he asked._

_I bowed my head._

_'The Kingslayer. I talked to him. He is... ' I whispered. 'I cannot fight him.'_

_Geralt let out a deep breath._

_'Ildico, I know you are Triss's friend and you have proven to be a loyal companion to me as well. But what am I to do with this now? You talked to the Kingslayer? And now you back off? Are you letting me down? Letting your friend down?_

_I looked back at him for a while. Hoping he would understand without words._

_Of course, that was foolish of me to hope for. We have been sort of comrades in the past few weeks, I helped him in a few contracts and he worked for me in some jobs. We learned to rely on each other until the day came and the events were set in motion. Now a town was burning, and the Kingslayer escaped, taking Triss with him. Geralt asked me to help him, to go to Upper Aedirn to find Triss and help Iorveth.  
_

_Yes, that Iorveth. I've been, in fact, wondering for a while how Geralt manages to pick up such, let's say, interesting friends.  
_

_Yet, now he was right. This was not a time to leave without any word._

_'I trust you have a very good reason for it.' he said slowly. 'But I think you owe it to me. You owe it to Triss.'_

_I lowered my head. He was right._

_'Geralt, I tell it to you. But you must swear to... I don't care what do you swear to, anything you hold in high esteem… that you won't speak about it to a soul. To no one.'_

_He looked at me gravely._

_'I swear to my destiny.' he said hoarsely._

_I believed him. I had to._

_And I told him my story. Not everything, not every aspect, but enough to make him see.  
_

_For a while, we stood next to the waterfall, motionless. Our figures may seemed like standing stones from the distance. Then finally he said:  
_

_'I understand.'_

_I nodded. 'Thank you.'_

_'Iorveth awaits me.' he said then. 'I must go.'_

_'I'm going with you.' I said. 'Letho is not here anymore, I can help you to capture that prison barge. If we sail up on the Pontar, I will be closer to Vengerberg anyway. Then I can send you supplies to Vergen much faster. And then... I will follow you as soon as I can.'_

_A light smile ran across his face._

_'So be it.' he nodded. 'Let's go!'_


	5. Just us, girls, together

**Vergen, 1271, August**

Some say happiness is wealth, true love, a weekend cottage by a lakeside. Some say it is a metaphorical concept, never to be reached, only to be chased.

Maybe I should enroll as a guest lecturer in Oxenfurt and tell students about the truth: happiness is a tub of hot water.

'Ildi, have you dissolved in the water?' Triss's voice called to me from somewhere beyond the bliss. 'Get out of that tub already, we have to go!'

'You are a spoilsport, Merigold.' I cried back and sank into the water up to my ears, enjoying the warmth and the scent of the bath oils.

At that moment, the temperature of water dropped to the temperature of a moderately cold arctic lake, and I jumped out of the tub, screaming.

Triss was laughing so hard that she had to sit down on a chair. The remaining sparks of the spell still danced around her fingers.

'You were waiting for that, weren't you?' I hissed, freezing. She nodded, still laughing, then threw me a towel.

'Now dry yourself up and get dressed!' she said.

'Your discounts are in serious danger, Miss Merigold.' I said as I wrapped myself into the towel.

'You love me too much, Ferenczy, admit it.' She sat up and smiled at me, then handed me a pair of new trousers and a shirt, winking. 'There you are. I made sure the cleavage is not too deep.'

'That's very… attentive of you, thanks.' I said with a sudden uncertainty as I pulled the clothes on.

She watched me while I dressed.

'Pull up the lacings a bit more at your shoulder. Your scar is showing.' she warned and I did as she said. We looked at each other - two people who knew each other's secrets. The good and the worst.

'What are you going to do now?' I asked. She cast her eyes down, understanding my question.

'I will help Geralt to find Yennefer. That is not up to consideration.'

'And then?'

She looked at me, tears gleaming in her eyes.

'I don't know. I really don't know. Sometimes I wish I had never met this son of a bitch, that I had never done what I did, but... he is all to me.' She walked to the window and stared out into the distance. 'Now, it's his decision, and I must try to stay focused. If Radovid continues his witch hunts, I'll have enough on my hand anyway.'

I stood dumbly, not really knowing how to comfort her. I admired her patience and that small remnant of innocence in her spirit which I once also had.

'You need anything - you tell me.' finally I said, embracing her from behind. She understood and clasped on my hand.

We left her quarters. As we walked around Vergen, I definitely felt a little at ease. Triss briefly explained what happened until my arrival.

'We are in for a very exciting period.' I summarized her tale. 'A Nilfgaardian invasion again, a mad king in the north, a hunt for mages… At least, Vergen can offer a small slice of a fairy tale. Brave freedom fighters declare independence, with a beautiful lady on the throne… We need more stories like this.'

'Without the part where the civilians learn about the true form of their queen, I guess?' Triss asked in a cynical tone.

'Now she is free, isn't she?' I asked. 'Philippa's spell has dissolved. Is it so serious?'

'Thankfully not. Vergen's folk is so fed up with corrupt kings that a dragon queen is not so surrealistic to them anymore.' she sighed. 'Although it is a mass work for Zoltan and Dandelion to keep it that way. Before I forget, prepare to sit the whole Siege of Vergen ballad through, when Dandelion gets in sight.'

'If it is served with enough drink, I don't mind.' I said.' Is it a romantic piece? Or a ballad with a lot of intrigues? Dealing with the difficulties of a newly founded state?'

'Oh yeah, right after the 'your queen is a dragon'-part.' Triss laughed. 'Never remind people of reality. It is not good for health.'

'I know, it was only a joke.' I chuckled. 'I doubt that, for example, your gloomy elven friend could bear more reality.'

Triss jumped over a broken wall fracture. 'Not a surprise. He certainly had more of reality than it would be healthy.'

'As did all of us.'

'Not everyone's coping mechanisms are as effective as yours, honey.'

'Effectiveness is a thing. The fact that mines do not involve mass murders, is another.'

Triss sighed.

'We all have innocent blood on our hands. This is the way of the world.' She looked at me sternly. 'But the dead will remain dead and it doesn't really matter to them why they are so.'

My urge to interrupt was slowly faded by a memory. I turned away from Triss. She couldn't know that she told me the same that I said to someone… somewhere.

Triss understood my silence and tried to cheer me up.

'There is always a chance for a happy ending! You know, during the Viziman uprising, Geralt helped a werewolf and his lover and the curse was broken - because the girl truly loved the man!'

I laughed.

'Now you are just jerking me around.'

'I'm dead serious! Ask Dandelion, he even wrote a song about it!' Triss said.

I shrugged. 'Well, that is a peer review of sorts.'

She chuckled, held my shoulder and we continued our way to the royal palace.

And I thought about that day again... the prison barge in Flotsam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who else lifted the curse from Vincent Meis? :)


	6. A slightly longer flashback

_**Flotsam port, 1271, April** _

_'We set sail. Our women are prepared to die!'_

_We should have left it at that. He was a military commander with more years of expertise than we would ever have, one whose life was a cluster of deciding what was bad and what was even worse. However coldly it sounded, he was right._

_But as I looked at Geralt, I knew he was thinking the same as me._

_'We can't let Loredo do this, White Wolf.' I muttered._

_'I agree, Songbird.' he nodded. 'This murder will not happen!'_

_We jumped to the shore together, accompanied by Iorveth's swearing, but neither of us listened to him._

_'That son of a whore is getting away!' Geralt cried as we ran on the ship's walkway. Loredo indeed jumped out of the burning tower, and his fat pigface was just disappearing in the crowd. 'Fuck, we don't have the time to get him and the girls as well!'_

_It had to be decided quickly._

_I turned back and saw a Scoia'tael archer standing at the starboard rail. I waved to him, then shouted:_

_'Cydwedd, aespar Loredo!'*_

_The archer nodded; he aimed and released the arrow._

_He lived up to the legend of elven archers. Loredo's ugly figure fell on the ground, an arrow standing out from his skull._

_Geralt whistled appreciatively._

_'Why haven't I thought of this at once?' he said.  
_

_'We keep you around to look pretty, not because of your wits.' I smiled at him kindly._

_'Very funny.' he snarled at me. 'Let's go to the tower!'_

_'Get the soldiers!' I answered. 'I will get the girls!'_

_'But…'_

_'Geralt, we don't have time for quarreling, you have no idea how many times I saved my songbirds from situations like this!' I interrupted. 'And anyways, heavy weaponry is not my cup of tea, you stand a chance against the guards, you can cover me!'_

_He still looked at me like he wanted to oppose. I cut him off before he could say a word._

_'For fuck's sake, if you want to give me a speech about knights saving princesses, I'll push you into the water. Let's go, before it's too late!'_

_He rolled his eyes._

_'My goodness, Dandelion and Zoltan will laugh their asses off.' he said but thankfully he finished quarrelling and followed me._

_He quickly engaged the remaining guards and the angry mob, while I could slip through the crowd, only to find myself facing a rather ugly peasant, aiming a rake at me - only to fall dead. An arrow was standing out of his back._

_I glanced quickly in the direction of the prison barge. I saw the shadow of a tall figure, lowering his bow; dressed in green, leather and metal, red kerchief on his head; and even from this distance, his eyes seemed to glow ruthlessly._

_I wondered for a moment that which of us was the original target, but I didn't have time to think, I entered the tower._

_The acrimonious smell of the smoke and the hotness hit me in the chest, as well as the fearful cries coming from the upper level._

_'Hold on, hold on, just for a little while!' I murmured; there was not enough air to shout. I climbed the ladders to the upper level, just to nearly faint at the top, but the sight of the bounded, frightened girls gave me a new push._

_I helped so many of you. I will not abandon you now._

_'Come on, I'll unbind you, but we have to jump into the river, there's no way back!' I told them, while I started to undo their bondages._

_'And Loredo?' asked one of the girls._

_'We can bring him back from the dead and kill him again, but I don't think it's absolutely necessary!' I replied as I moved to the second woman._

_'He definitely can stay where he is, the whoreson!' she hissed._

_As I freed all of them, they moved to the balcony, two of them already jumped out into the water. However, the third girl suddenly started to cough and nearly fainted, pushing me directly to the burning doorjamb._

_I may have shouted a little bit too loudly._

_'Ildico!'_

_The witcher's voice came from hazy distance; as my sight cleared, I saw him on the ship, waving like a madman. So he made back to the ship in one piece, that's good to know._

_I grabbed the arm of the coughing girl and without hesitation, we jumped into the river._

_When I emerged from the waves, catching my breath, I didn't see the girls anywhere. I could only hope that they had found their ways out of this mess, but I had to take care of my own life now. I started to swim in the direction of the ship; quite slowly, as my arm was aching like hell._

_'Ildico, swim!' I heard Geralt's shout._

_'Hold on, you can do it!' Dandelion's voice followed, as well as others - whoa, suddenly I had a bunch of Scoia'tael cheerleaders? -, and I didn't need much support, soon I arrived to the ship and climbed on the side rope._

_Geralt immediately swept me into his arms and set out to the stairs leading below deck, but in a few moments, he noticed my smile._

_'Is everything all right, Ildi?' he asked suspiciously._

_I held back my laughter._

_'You are very kind, witcher, but actually, I can walk. So you can put me down.' I smiled at him. He obeyed me embarrassedly. I took pity on him._

_'Though I wouldn't mind if I could get some help with this.' I showed him the burns on my arm. 'And I am freezing.'_

_'I'll prepare some herbs at once, Ehedydd.' said an elf standing next to us and he rushed down below deck, his comrades loitered around us and offered their help by turns to Geralt and to me. Before I could marvel on their turnaround or ask anything - Ehedydd? What does that mean? - , Geralt took off his cloak and put it around me, in as knightly a manner as he could. I pulled the cloak together on myself, then looked at him:_

_'And now, are the damages of your manly image repaired?'_

_'Let's say you are feverish, and I won't toss you back into the river.' he scoffed at me and I couldn't hold back laughter anymore. The elves joined me, more because of the relief than the actual fun, but I must admit… it was quite a good feeling._

_Then Iorveth's hoarse voice shouted from the stern:_

_'Pull up the mainsail, we leave!'_

_The little gathering was over, the Scoia'tael set sail and we left the port of the so beautiful Flotsam town. Geralt and Iorveth were standing at the starboard rail, talking. I didn't want to disturb their discussion, so I sat down on a rope bunch, trying to calm the throbbing of my heart. It wasn't a tea party, after all.  
_

_As the ship flew on the waves on the Pontar, Geralt came up to me again._

_'Come below deck, I'll treat your arm.'_

_'Wait, Gwynbleidd.' Iorveth walked up to us. 'I'd like to talk to your smuggler friend before that. Privately, if I may.'  
_

_'Can't it wait?' asked the witcher impatiently. 'Burns are not to be trifled with.'_

_'It's all right, Geralt.' I said, then winked at him. 'We'll make it short.'_

_Geralt allowed himself a quick smile as did some of the Scoia'tael standing around us, but Iorveth's face remained cold and unfathomable. Like a beautiful sculpture._

_The witcher looked at me. I nodded, so he didn't make any objections, and walked down on the stairs, the elves following him._

_We stood alone on the deck with Iorveth. I faced him to wait for what he has to say._

_Well, he said nothing; instead, with a quick move, he grabbed my hair and clenched his arm around my neck. I felt the cold blade of his dagger at my throat, his leather armbands scratched my skin. He smelled like green leaves, rusty metal, sweat and blood. I had these kind of attacks often enough to learn how to evade them. The only problem was that usually petty criminals, skinny thieves and their illustrious colleagues tried to get me, not war machines who have been active for at least a century. I tried to shout, but he held me tight, I was gasping for air even, let alone speak._

_'Did you think you can get away with this show, dh'oine slut?' he whispered in my ear, cold and toneless. 'Did you really think I would not know?'_

_My first waves of fear were soon swept away by anger. I took a sudden movement, and nearly escaped from his arm, but he dragged me back._

_'What the…' I managed to say before he clutched at my throat again._

_'Don't pretend. I saw you! I saw you talking to Letho at the ruins of Cáelmewedd!'_

_I gasped, fear froze me. What could have he heard?_

_Iorveth felt my muscles become rigid._

_'Now you are afraid? What have you been talking about? What is your plan, you traitorous bitch?' he snarled in my ears._

_So he heard nothing. We are good. Well, aside from his dagger at my throat._

_I rose up again, and this time, I managed to grab his arm and get some air to breathe and to speak._

_'How about you consider the meaning of the phrase "it's a fucking private business", Fox?' I spat, as I tried to escape his ferocious grasp. 'Do you really think that I would have risked my life for your brethren if I was up to something against you? Things don't work like that, and you know it perfectly well! Let me go, for fuck's sake!'_

_He released me so suddenly I fell on the deck of the ship, precisely on my burnt arm. The witcher's cloak fell off me while I kneeled up and clasped on the injury, hissing. I looked up at Iorveth. He stood there, silently._

_For a moment, he looked like…_

_I shook my head to sweep away the memory. Now was not the time._

_I looked at Iorveth again and said coldly:_

_'You could have just shot me when you had the chance. You know what I am talking about.'_

_He looked at my wound, then into my eye again, and slowly put away his knife. However, his voice did not become kinder at all._

_'You sell secrets to Roche about us, and I bet you do so with his secrets. You get fat on the money you earn on our misery!'_

_Idiot._

_'I am not a bloody hav'caaren, Aen Seidhe. I only trade items and no information, because information is a dangerous zone, it might cause unexpected disturbances.' I replied, trying to calm my voice.' War and fights might seem good for my job, but it only means a temporary rise. It is better if there is no fight, it means a lower, but more steady income. Roche doesn't know that I have connections with the Scoia'tael, and the Scoia'tael would have never known if you would not have spied on me, elf. I am a traitor to no one.'_

_He gave me a disgusted snarl._

_'Congratulations, dh'oine. That is the most realistic attitude bedded with the purest hypocrisy I have heard in a long time.'_

_Now I started to lose my patience as well._

_'Oh, it has advantages, elf. At least my pave is not stoned with the blood of innocents.' I snapped back._

_'You speculate, lie and cheat for money. I fight for my people's freedom!'_

_'I'm sure that's a pretty solid consolation for those who died by your hand.'_

_He looked at me scornfully. 'Sharp tongue, blunt morals.' he said and walked away from me._

_'Look who's talking!' I said loudly enough to make sure he would hear it, but he didn't turn back, he walked below deck._

_As I stood up and put Geralt's cloak around me again to follow Iorveth, I suppressed a quick smile. The Woodland Fox hasn't cut my throat. That's an achievement. Most people only manage to win some rounds of burping contests at their local inn._

_As I walked below deck -_ wait, did he really call me fat? _ _-_ , I tried to cool down my disturbed face and manage out a smile. Dandelion jumped to me at once and led me to an upturned crate to sit down, not finishing chattering for a moment._

_'You know, Ildi, that was pretty heroic, but I don't know how will I make it into a ballad.' he said. 'It's usually a handsome hero rescuing the damsel in distress!'_

_'What's your problem, bard? You can always redefine the same old storylines.' I answered. 'Besides, I am quite pretty as well.'_

_'I certainly wouldn't mind if Ehedydd rescued me from a burning tower.' a young elf lad said, smiling, and his comrades started laughing._

_'There, you have your story.' I told Dandelion, then turned to the elf. 'What did you call me? Ehedydd? I don't know this word.'_

_Before he could have replied, Iorveth's gritty voice answered behind my back._

_'Skylark.'_

_I couldn't restrain a smile. So this is how epithets are born. I wonder what was the original form of White Wolf._

_'Did the lice fall off?' I muttered back to Iorveth's direction, but never waited for his answer. The sensation I felt when I noticed his tenseness, seeing that his subjects clearly accepted me, could be described best with the following words: sugar sweet schadenfreude._

_Geralt sat down next to me with a bowl of hot water and mushed herbs. He cleaned my arm and started to bandage it with the herbs._

_'Everything all right?' he muttered._

_'Nothing worth mentioning.' I whispered so only he could hear. 'Just a barely escaped friendly throat-cutting.'_

_He looked at me, waiting._

_I gave in. 'He saw me with Letho.'_

_A flicker of understanding gleamed in his eyes._

_'Ildi, don't forget that I know why you must leave.' he said silently. 'But Iorveth doesn't. That kind of explains his attitude, I think.'_

_I waved._

_'It doesn't matter. In one or two days, I I leave anyways and I never have to meet this son of a bitch again.' I answered, then looked straightly at Geralt. 'He doesn't have to understand. He doesn't have to know.'_

_He continued to bandage my arm and did not answer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My friend, shoot Loredo!  
> (All right, I hope this is not too much, but I was always so angry at that part of the game. You have the world's best archers at your side, and then save the elven women or kill Loredo? Really, that's all you've got? It really would have taken a call from Geralt to get that human cesspit undone and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger for it.)


	7. Royal audience or what the hell am I doing here again

**Vergen, 1271, August**

The Castle of The Three Fathers overlooked all of Vergen and even the distant mountains of Mahakam. It is told that in the glorious days, monarchs, princes of all races came to pay their homage to the kings of old.

_Now, we have a dragon queen and an elven ambassador, that's not bad either._

Geralt looked around and examined the persons sitting around the table in the council hall.

Queen Saskia put down her armor, she wore a deep red gown which fit her perfectly. She sat upright in her chair, pride and determination in her eyes. Cecil Burdon was seated right next to her, a fresh wound was on his face which he got in the siege. Iorveth sat left to the queen; he looked quite unfamiliar in his simple green tunic, leaving his weapons behind; only a short knife hang on his belt.

And on the other side of the table, there sat the infamous Arondir aep Tavassoth, the elven ambassador of Dol Blathanna. He was tall, his elvish beauty unmarred; the only disturbing feature on his fair countenance was his broken nose, maybe received during the war. His dark hair fell on his shoulders, his ice-cold eyes were blue as forget-me-nots.

_What the hell am I thinking, forget-me-not is for innocent village girls and this is some difficult bastard._

Geralt had the disputable pleasure of meeting him earlier. Arondir was respectful towards Saskia, but he didn't even try to be gallant with the other members of the court; he made sure to play on with the elven aloofness which didn't make him a popular person in Vergen.

_There, there. A few hours and we are over with this diplomatic bullshit. It is just a courtesy visit, after all._

_Shit, who do I want to fool, what the hell am I doing here?_

Geralt sighed and looked at Iorveth, who clearly also wished he was somewhere else.

_Giving a helping hand, apparently. Again._

'I am truly amazed by your achievements, my friends.' Arondir listened to the (carefully adjusted) story of the past few weeks and he looked satisfied with the events.' Although, your kind heart may prove you wrong, witcher. You should not have allowed the Kingslayer to leave.'

'I, myself, would have preferred if the witcher just chopped off all his separately moving body parts, but Geralt has made his decision.' Iorveth growled.

'At last, something we can agree on.' Arondir smiled coldly. 'I had dealings with that d'hoine before myself. I wouldn't mind knowing he is dead.'

'Can't imagine which of you were the bad guy.'

'Good, bad, aren't those so shallow categories?' Arondir asked. 'But I'm not here to talk to you about my personal life. I can say in the name of my Duchess Francesca that Dol Blathanna wishes to establish a prospering and mutually beneficial relationship with the free Pontar Valley.'

'I'm glad to see that you are working on strengthening the diplomatic relations of your country so effectively.' Iorveth remarked sarcastically.

Arondir nodded to him benignantly.

'Someone has to improve the impression the Scoia'tael gives about our race.' he said slowly.

'If not for the Scoia'tael, you'd have no soft pillows under your arse, good food in your stomach or either a valley of flowers.' Iorveth said irately. 'Not even a valley filled with troll shite.'

'How rustically poetic.'

'Laugh if you want, but I will not forget what you have done to us. You've established the elven state on our shoulders and banished us, like criminals!'

'Glad to hear this is working back and forth, commander.' Arondir smiled coldly. 'We know much more about you than you would think.'

At that moment, Geralt noticed a flash of flaming red in the door. Triss entered the council room, but for some reason, she quickly stepped back into the shadows. Geralt saw that Saskia noticed her as well, but also saw that Triss didn't want to be observed. So she chose another way of stopping the quarrel of the elves.

'Gentlemen, if I might put this back on track!' she said boldly. 'Mine is not a country where munching on old insults would be a way to the future!'

'I'm sorry, M'lady.' Arondir nodded, then gave a side glance to the snarling Iorveth. 'I can assure you, this is not our future concept either.' He stood up and walked graciously towards Saskia, who looked at him sternly. He didn't care about her attitude. 'Our concept of future is founded on starting again fresh. What I mean is, we wish to eradicate all past insults and offences.'

'This is a desirable aim for us as well.' Saskia said, her voice stiff.

Arondir bowed his head.

'I am happy to hear it, M'lady.' he said. 'In this case, I hope I can count on your cooperation in what I am going to ask of you. My duchess, Enid an Gleanna, wishes to assure you of her best intentions and to establish a good connection between our countries. We have only one condition.'

'What would that be?'

'We wish to sign an extradition convention. This means that we will be able to exchange political prisoners in the future between our countries. We shall keep no runaways from you and we ask of you that you shall keep none from us either.'

Saskia looked a bit confused, as well as the others sitting around the table.

'What does that mean in practice?' asked Cecil Burdon.

Arondir raised his chin, his gaze was sharp.

'I demand the extradition of Iorveth, the war criminal who shall face charges of treason by the laws of Dol Blathanna.'

Saskia grabbed the handrails of her chair, horror mirrored in her eyes. Cecil Burdon could not answer either; he looked at Saskia, frightened. Geralt felt his muscles go numb. He looked at his friend; Iorveth sat there like a sculpture, unable to make a move or say a word.

Arondir looked around, clearly satisfied with the impact of his words. He the continued to speak:

'If we can manage to conduct the extradition, my country shall acknowledge the independence of the Pontar Valley without hesitation and you shall have our assistance in the upcoming war.'

'And if we refuse?' Saskia asked.

'Then I am afraid we shall have to declare you a pretender and our country shall not offer you its support during the Emperor's military campaign… of which you have already heard, I presume.'

Silence fell on the council hall, deep and empty as the darkest pit of the mines under Vergen.

Suddenly, Iorveth howled like a wounded animal, jumped up and slammed his hands on the table. Geralt quickly clasped his arms around him, holding back the furious elf.

'You ungrateful whoreson, you damned traitor!' Iorveth shouted to Arondir. 'How dare you threaten us? You are nothing more than a low-ranking puppet under the shadow queen of a charity house!'

Arondir kept his calm stance and looked at Iorveth contemptuously.

'I may be.' he answered. 'But you, my friend, are no more than a petty criminal. And no matter how well you think you play the general, you'll die as a petty criminal.'

He turned to Saskia and nodded to her.

'I believe I have made my point; I shall leave you to decide, Queen. Do not forget my words.'

Saskia waved her hand to him silently, dismissing him. Arondir bowed low and left the council room, without looking at Iorveth.

Geralt still had to hold back the elf.

'Calm down, Iorveth.' he said to him silently. 'Calm down. We will figure something out.'

'What will you figure out, vatt'ghern?' Iorveth suddenly pushed him away and sat down on his chair, burying his face in his hands. 'There is nothing to figure out.'

Saskia walked up to them and put her hands on Iorveth's shoulder.

'You are not the one to give up, Iorveth.' she said gently.

'Pardon my interruption, but… I see no escape from this situation.' said Cecil Burdon sadly. 'Either way, it is a trap. If we don't give up the Squirrel, we can expect the Nilfgaardians to party at our doors. If we give him up, we lose the best military leader this town had in ages. The question is: which is the lesser evil?'

Geralt sighed.

'Can't it be only the good and the evil? Just for once?'

'I understand your concerns, witcher.' Burdon allowed himself a quick smile, then turned to Saskia. 'I think this question requires a longer debate, but we are all exhausted and tired.'

Saskia nodded.

'I suggest we all take a rest. We will continue tomorrow morning.' she said. Burdon bowed himself and retired from the council hall.

Saskia's voice broke the silence that followed.

'Miss Merigold, you wanted to say something.'

'Yes, Lady Saskia.' Triss nodded, then reached into the shadows and pulled out a woman from behind a pillar by her hand. Geralt recognized Ildico.

'Lady Saskia, I'd like to introduce my friend, Ildico Ferenczy, who, I believe, gave you a helping hand during the siege.' said Triss.

'Oh, yes.' Saskia stood up, went to Ildico and grabbed her hand. Geralt allowed himself a moment of admiration, looking at the three women. Triss stood next to the two other women, watching them with a smile. Ildico bowed before Saskia ceremoniously. She could always surprise the witcher with her changing attitude; she adjusted to her environment very quickly.

_A skill you have to learn if you are to conduct such a life._

Saskia was much taller than the smuggler and more strongly built; however, her graceful movements echoed Ildico's agility as they respectfully greeted each other. The torchlights mirrored golden shadows on the red, the dark blonde and the auburn hairlocks.

They were a beautiful sight.

'We owe a lot to you.' Saskia said. 'There would have been far more dead amongst our walls, were it not for your medicine supplies, Miss Ferenczy.'

Ildico nodded.

'Lady Saskia, it's my pleasure.' she said, then smiled at the queen of Vergen sadly. 'Though as I heard, I managed to pick a bad time for my visit.'

'To put it mildly.' Iorveth growled.

Ildico ignored him.

'Forgive my manners, Lady Saskia, but I heard everything you've been talking about. As I understand, it caused a great disturbance… but I think I can help you.'

All stared at her surprisedly, except Triss. It seemed she knew what Ildico was talking about.

_Something I don't know about… again._

'How can you do that?' Saskia asked.

Something clouded Ildico's face that the witcher has never seen before.

'I have known for a time that Arondir aep Tavassoth is deeply concerned in reconstructing the political relationships in Dol Blathanna. Meaning, he wants to depose Francesca Findabair from the throne. Many of the elves of Dol Blathanna are unsatisfied with a sorceress ruling over them and he is more than willing to feed their mistrust.'

'Can't say I don't understand that.' Iorveth remarked.

'Hey!' Triss bursted, but Iorveth waved at her.

'Not now, Merigold.'

Saskia looked at Ildico attentively.

'How do you know that?'

She lowered her head but her sight didn't let Saskia's go.

'I have my… personal connections. I know what he wants to do and I have proof. The problem is, I know where the evidences are… but I can't get it alone.'

'So let me summarize it: you can help us, but you need our help first.' Geralt said.

Ildico nodded.

'Exactly.' she said.

The silence was broken by Iorveth's harsh voice.

'And how does a coup in Dol Blathanna matter to us? Who cares who sits on the throne of the Valley of Flowers? It will remain a Nilfgaardian protectorate nonetheless.'

Ildico gave him a "try to think before you babble"-kind of look.

'Arondir would surely stay close to the new ruler and do you really want to keep connections with an advisor who starts his relationship with the free Pontar Valley with threats?' she said. 'If he is publicly proven to be untrustworthy, his allegations will loose their credit at once. As far as we know, Francesca might even be grateful if Arondir disappears from the scene. But even if not, the internal feud will shake her court enough that she shall have to look after it with all her might and she will have no time or energy to chase the Scoia'tael.'

Iorveth leaned back and stared coldly at the smuggler.

'And what is the exact benefit for you in this matter, d'hoine?'

Her face stiffened for a moment, then a smile ran across her lips.

'As I told you before, peace is a better foundation for business. And there's no need for so much cleaning. Bloodstains are especially hard to wash out.' she said, then put her elbows on the table, facing Iorveth. 'The direct consequences affect you more than me, Squirrel. If Arondir is discredited, he will have no legal base to accuse. Therefore, you will be absolved of all charges.'

Iorveth shook his head disbelievingly.

'Are you really telling me that you would do this for me?' he asked.

She held back her laughter.

'For all I care about you, Squirrel, you may plough yourself, if you wish.' she said scornfully. 'The fact that you would be cleared from charges is only a side effect of what I'm planning. And hopefully enough motivation for you to help me.'

'But why do you even need our help?' Geralt asked.

'Because the task requires thorough and careful preparations; and for that, I shall need skillful companions.' Ildico answered.

'It seems you are our hope, Miss Ferenczy.' Saskia said. 'There is only one thing I do not understand. If not for Iorveth, why are you doing this? You said you have your personal connections. How do you have those? What are those?'

'I really would like to know that myself.' Iorveth leaned forth threateningly.

The sharp gleam in Ildico's eyes seemed to smoothen and for a moment, she looked small, lonely and fragile.

_What is she hiding? She clearly didn't tell everything to me._

'The free Pontar Valley is something I have been searching for in my whole life.' Ildico replied quietly. 'I'm afraid that right now, I can answer all your questions with that.'

Iorveth scoffed.

'She will betray us on the first corner.'

Geralt watched the smuggler attentively. Ildico was to reply something to the elf, when Triss walked next to her and put her hand on the smuggler's shoulder.

'Ildico will never betray you.' she said. 'I'll vouch for her.'

The elf smiled with mock.

'No offense, Merigold, but…'

'I'll take full responsibility.' Geralt interrupted him fast.

Saskia looked at him.

'Are you sure, Geralt?'

He nodded. 'I am. At least I am more certain in this than in many of my decisions.' He looked at Ildico. 'But I can promise: if you deceive us, you will end up quite unhealthy.'

Ildico smiled at him kindly.

'Evidently, witcher.'

Iorveth leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes.

'We're all gonna die.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get real and Iorveth goes all Mrs Packard about it!


	8. A nice evening walk

**On the road in Aedirn, 1271, September**

Here we go again. I swear when this is over, I'm gonna book myself at least a month in a spa, maybe somewhere in Toussaint, the farther the better.

Our merry company camped on the Eastern hills of the Mahakaman Mountains. In the distance, the shadow of towers under construction emerged. Vengerberg, the capital of Aedirn has rebuilt much of its glory since the nilfgaardian invasion destroyed it to the ground. I wouldn't have thought I would return so soon; usually, I visited once a year to overview my coterie here, but now, I needed information I could gather from only one source.

I tried to calm my heavy breathing. I never thought I would ever walk this road.

Years ago, I promised someone I never would.

But times change and promises are fragile.

If only I could explain it to them.

'We are nearly there.' I turned and walked to the group.

Geralt and Triss stood next to me; Iorveth stayed behind to give orders to his men. I waited for him to finish it and join us. The indifference he always looked at me with didn't leave his face this time either. It seemed he decided that he would take no notice of me. Given the fact that sometimes it was unavoidable to talk to each other, this could play out quite funny.

'We cannot all enter the town, it would be too risky.' I said when he came up next to us. 'Squirrel, can you order your men to advance and wait for us outside Vengerberg while we are in town?'

'It can be arranged.' he said stiffly, like every time he spoke to me. Not like that would be numerous; I had much more to discuss with Triss and Geralt on the road from Vergen.

Iorveth turned to his lieutenant, still stone-faced. 'Ciaran, do as the smuggler commands. Search for a nice spot around the city and send me word when you have camped.'

I couldn't resist the temptation to mock him a little.

'Ciaran?' I smiled at the black-haired elf. 'Nice to see you in one piece.'

He smiled back and bowed to me a little.

'Thanks to you, Ehedydd. Were it not for your supplies, I would have died from fever.'

'I gave orders, Ciaran.' Iorveth said tonelessly. Ciaran immediately caught himself and left us.

'How much time do we have to spend in Vengerberg?' Geralt changed the subject. Spoilsport.

'That depends.' I said. 'Maybe one or two days, if nothing goes wrong.'

'But something always goes wrong.' Tiss inserted.

'Yep.' I nodded. 'Make it four days.'

'Let's go then.' said Geralt.

We started off from the hill; Vengerberg was several hours on foot. Triss came up next to me; Iorveth and Geralt walked behind us.

I heard the elf's hoarse voice, woven with resignation.

'So, vatt'ghern, old friend, I'm back on the road again.' he said. 'It was nice to have a home while it lasted.'

I felt something clenching on my stomach. I was tempted to turn around and tell that elven scoundrel that there is no need to worry, but I didn't. After all, everything might turn out quite bad, because that's the way of things. Moreover, why deny a little misery from someone who caused so much misery to others?

And third, he would have probably just laughed in my face.

Triss gently slipped her arm through mine.

'Don't you want to sing for me, Songbird?' she asked.

'Now?' I asked back, astonished.

'Why not?' She motioned around with her free arm. 'This is a rare moment when we are not chased or have to hide. And I haven't heard you singing since the forest of Flotsam, Dandelion always stole the day.'

She winked at me and chuckled and I felt my face turning red. I wouldn't have looked back now for all the gold in the world, although none of the men commented on Triss's words.

'Come on, Skylark.' she whispered. 'Something about a new beginning.'

She clenched on my arm a bit and I understood that she also heard Iorveth's remark.

So I sang. About spring, the sunlight breaking through the rainfall, running free in the forests, loyalty and love. Awakening.*

My companions were silent.

* * *

 

Our walk was uneventful until we got to the main gates in the evening, the sky started to fall dark.

'Pull up your cloaks, gentlemen.' I told Geralt and Iorveth. 'I know that nighttime is coming and your fame has possibly not reached here, but we better be cautious.'

'Aye, there might be people around here who still remember me from my time here with Yennefer.' Geralt murmured and did as I asked, as well as Iorveth, without a word.

I felt Triss shudder next to me, and a flicker of pain ran through her eyes. I squeezed her hand to give her some spirit; she gratefully squeezed back. I heard Geralt's embarrassed cough.

And so our glorious company entered the town of Vengerberg.

If we had a little more time, I would surely line up on the evening market, walk into my favourite shops; Triss let out some happy cries when she saw a nice dress, fabric, book or magical apparatus on the merchant's shelves. Looking around, I caught the witcher and the Squirrel taking remarks on the weapons, crafting materials they liked.

Maybe on the road back, we will have time.

Given there will be a road back.

Suddenly I stopped. I heard a familiar whistle.

'What's wrong, Ildi?' Triss asked.

'What happened?' Geralt took his hand on my shoulder.

I didn't answer, just continued listening. And again, I heard the whistle. Now I was sure.

'One of my songbirds is in trouble.' I whispered. 'This is the tune we use when we ask for help from nearby smugglers. I have to go.'

'Do you need assistance?' Geralt asked.

'No.' I shook my head. 'It would be too conspicuous. Continue your way down to the fountain on the main square, I will find you there.'

I didn't even wait for their answer, I left them, and started to run on the side streets. I whistled the identification tune, but I didn't get any response; the songbird must have been in imminent danger.

I ran and looked into some frequently used spots, when suddenly I saw a flash of golden blonde hair on a very small figure, disappearing in a blind alley - followed by three quite big brutes.

I've got you, rats.

I ran after the company, just to find the three mongrels grouping around a little elven girl, she could not be older than seven or eight years.

 _Why is she even here?_ _I strictly ordered my men never to send children to such missions._

I saw tears in the girl's almond-shaped eyes, she was deadly scared. No wonder.

'So, missus, I know ya still have yummy little things for us!' one of the men snickered.

'Don't hurt me, please.' she whimpered, but another man laughed at her.

'Nonhuman dirt better shut mouth and spread little legs!' he gushed and hit the girl, who moaned helplessly.

A moment later, he fell dead, one of my daggers standing out from his nape. The other two turned around and looked at me with surprise.

'And human dirt will go just where it belongs: to the garbage bin.' I said and pulled out my other dagger.

The two men growled and started to run towards me.

'You can 'ave a taste of a real man, too, missy!' the taller one shouted, and but soon he fell on the ground as I kicked him in the thigh.

'The rats of Vengerberg are surely up for such delicacies!' I cried and kicked the other one as well, just to cut his throat deeply, his head nearly fell off his neck.

The big-mouthed one was not a bright mind, the death of his comrades didn't keep him from attacking me, while I still held the hair of the already dead bastard. He grabbed my arm, and I nearly fell while evading his grasp, but suddenly I felt his grip loosen and he fell on the ground, dead - with an arrow in his neck.

I looked up and saw my companions approaching. Magical sparkles jumped around Triss's hand and Geralt held his steel sword in his palm as they ran towards me.

'Didn't I say that do not follow me?' I snapped at them.

'Calm down. And if you would have been overwhelmed?' Geralt said. 'No one else knows where the free food is.'

'Haha, I'm very amused.' I rolled my eyes and saw Iorveth, following Geralt and Triss, with his bow strung. He walked up to the man he shot and pulled out his arrow from the corpse.

'Thanks.' I told him awkwardly.

'Whatever.' He didn't even look at me, he turned his gaze to the little weeping elven girl.

I put away my daggers and ran up to the little one.

'Hold on, darling, you are all right now.' I caressed her hair and she fell in my arms, crying in fear. 'You were clever to use the tune.'

'Ildico, are you using such little kids for smuggling works?' Geralt asked, he was clearly irritated. Justly irritated.

'No. She shouldn't be here.' I shook my head and turned to the little girl again. 'Who gave you this job, sweetheart?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The song Ildico is singing is Haru Yo Koi by Hayley Westenra (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lykhh52NEXk)


	9. A slap, a tale and a nice evening drink

**Vengerberg, 1271, September**

For Dereol of Vengerbeg, it started as an average evening until someone knocked on the door.

Knocking on doors is a thing in this town, it seems.

The young elf opened the gate just to see the company standing in front of it: a white-haired, cat-eyed man (a witcher, here?), a red-haired woman, holding the hand of a sobbing, little elven girl, a cloaked, slender figure - and Ildico Ferenczy, who looked considerably angry.

Dereol hesitated for a moment.

'Hey, Ferenczy!' he greeted Ildico. 'What brings you…'

The next moment, he got slapped across the face. Hard. He could barely see Ildico among the stars dancing in front of his eyes, and her harsh voice was not quite promising either:

'And now, Dereol, my dear old friend, we are going to sit down and have a soulful, thorough, mutually satisfying discussion.'

* * *

Geralt leaned back on the bench and looked around in the room.

Ildico led them to the Songbirds' headquarters - a cottage which seemed like a normal town house from the outside. The inner courtyard included a kitchen, a smithery and a potter, where people, humans and nonhumans together, were working. They greeted Ildico warmly but glanced to her companions in distrust.

_No wonder, we must seem just as strange to them as they seem to us. Humans and nonhumans, together, in Vengerberg? I must be high._

An empty fireplace was also set up in one of the corners, in safe distance from the roofs. On the upper level, there were some bedchambers and apartments; some of the craftsmen lived there, some served as guest rooms.

Dereol, the young, blonde elf, who was greeted so heartily by Ildico, led them to a floor chamber, which clearly served as some kind of a salon; there were several benches, big tables, books on the shelves, glasses of wine on the cupboards, like it would be suited to hold bigger gatherings.

Ildico motioned them to sit down then poured a glass of wine to everyone - none of them refused. She drank hers in one gulp, then sat down and looked sternly at Dereol.

'You've got one shot, buddy.' she said menacingly. 'I thought we agreed that we don't do anything serious involving children or animals?'

The young elf uncomfortably squirmed in his seat.

'Don't get too high. It was just a small, clean work.'

'Clean work?' Ildico showed her bloodstained shirt. 'Does this look clean to you?'

'Ferenczy, you must understand. Ilka's dad is a drunkard. He beats her when she does not bring home money. And the little messenger works are so rare nowadays… I wanted to help her.'

'Then why don't you just simply give such children a few orens?' Triss asked.

Dereol and Ildico gave each other a bitter glance.

'We tried that before, but it didn't work out.' Dereol murmured. 'Soon all the beggars and savage folk of Vengerberg lined up at our door; we nearly had to call the city guard, imagine the irony.'

'So we started to send messages with children.' Ildico continued. 'Not too important letters to irreproachable clients, for pocket money, during daytime. I pay some… commission to the city guard and the local thief guild not to harm them. In this way, they are safe, and they can help their families.'

'Nice to hear that corruption actually can work in a good way.' Triss remarked dryly.

Geralt frowned.

'I don't like this.'

'Neither do I.' Ildico nodded. 'I'm always up for better ideas, witcher.'

Geralt sighed after a few moments of consideration.

'Wish I could suggest one.'

'I thought so.' the smuggler chief said with a sad smile. 'Our possibilities are quite limited, Geralt. So far, this has been working, more or less.' She looked again at Dereol, angrily. 'Of course, I didn't know that someone changed the conditions without my approval!'

Dereol looked offended.

'I ain't changed anything, Ildico!'

'Then why are you making contracts with savages? They chased her, wanted to rape her! A child!'

'What? That's impossible.'

'It seemed fairly possible to me.' Geralt interrupted impatiently.

Dereol shook his head and looked at them, disbelieving.

'It cannot be.' he repeated. 'I sent her to Saeros and Miklos.'

For a moment, Ildico stunned, but she soon regained her ferocity.

'After dark. It's no surprise she ran into trouble.' she snapped at Dereol again. 'Your eyes are open, your mouth moves, but Mr. Brain has long since departed, hasn't he, darling?'

'You can stop that, Ferenczy. The girl came to me with a fresh bruise on her arm.' Dereol said gloomily. 'And I just wanted to send the monthly accounts to Saeros. I am really sorry, but it seemed convenient!'

Ildico buried her face in her palms.

'I guess I have to introduce you to the art of making an exception.' she muttered.

Dereol growled.

'Did they take away the letter from her?' he asked then, changing the subject.

Ildico showed the crumpled paper. 'I have it, she gave it to me. Don't bother sending it… tomorrow, we'll have to visit Saeros and Miklos anyway. I will deliver it to them.'

'I guess they are the reason why we came to Vengerberg.' Triss said and Ildico nodded.

'Yes.' she answered. 'They can answer a lot of questions for us.'

'They will be happy to see you.' the blonde elf grunted. 'Provided you don't greet them with a wham.'

'Stop whining, jackass.' she said sharply, then stood up and turned to her companions. 'How about a bit of rest before dinner?'

Geralt and Triss nodded, smiling, and they stood up as well. The witcher looked Iorveth - the elf nodded and pushed back the hodd from his head to follow them.

Dereol stared at him in utter horror.

'What is this murderer doing here?' he said, his voice trembling. 'If anyone finds out he's here, they'll burn the whole nonhuman quarter down!'

'He's helping me.' Ildico put her hand on the blonde elf's shoulder and smiled at him. 'And no one will find out that he's here, because we are smart enough to hide and remain silent, and you are… you just keep your mouth shut, sweet thing.'

She motioned her companions to follow her and they left the room. Dereol followed them, keeping his distance from Iorveth, although the Scoia'tael didn't even look at him.

They walked down to the courtyard. The fireplace was lit by now; an old human woman sat there, and children around her, humans, elves, dwarves, even a small halfling girl. Geralt recognized Ilka as well. She now seemed all right, her eyes were gleaming as she listened to the old lady's story.

'What is this gathering, Ildico?' he asked.

The smuggler smiled.

'The kids are listening to Marika's bedtime story.'

'But… there are not only human kids.' Triss said, surprised.

Ildico looked at her.

'And?'

'I… I don't know. You don't see something like this every day.' Triss stuttered. 'It is… wonderful.'

Geralt - as usual - was at loss of words. Looking at the small group, he felt an inexplicable calmness descending on him. The old woman's voice was vivid, her face was happy, frowned, sad, angry, as the tale required. The children hanged on her every word, nestling up, not caring about the race of each other.

Still, something was amiss.

'Why are they here? What are they doing here?' he asked. 'Nonhuman and human kids usually just stop to beat each other on the streets.'

The fire painted warm shadows on the smuggler's face.

'Children from the slums often come to us. Marika learned at Oxenfurt for a few years; she teaches them mathematics, reading, writing. She plays with them; teaches them how to play together. And in the evenings, she tells them tales. They would never miss it.'

'If she studied at Oxenfurt, why does she dwell in a city slum?' Triss asked.

Ildico lowered her head.

'She married an elf.' she replied. 'Her husband fought in the Deithwen Division.'

'With Nilfgaard?' Iorveth asked in a toneless voice.

'Yes.' the smuggler chief nodded. 'He was killed in the battle of Brenna. She couldn't return to her home after what has been done to the elven divisions and officers… so she stayed in Vengerberg. I met her a few years ago, offered her to stay with the Songbirds, and she accepted. Since then, she is the vigilante of the children who come to us for work… or just to be children.' Ildico sighed. 'If only for a little while.'

She turned away from the peaceful scene and walked through the courtyard.

Geralt followed her. He felt something that resembled a trance. Rare were the occasions when the witcher was touched, but now, his heart was at a momentary peace. But somewhere deep in his heart, his more experienced side argued: this is pure naivety, romantic nonsense, children should learn caution and constant vigilance, for no one knows what is waiting around the corner.

_But what if it's just another child, from another race, who wants to play, like every kid?_

_Like everyone of us?_

Geralt was confused.

Ildico stopped at the kitchen door and motioned them to wait, but a rough voice held her back.

'What's the point in all this?'

Ildico turned to Iorveth in surprise and raised her eyebrows.

'Hey, you can talk?'

'Very funny.' Iorveth snorted, then waved to the direction of the old woman and the children.' I said, I don't see the point. Human, elven, dwarven children together… What sense is there? They study just to face the fact that they will never get more in life than some dirty, flea-ridden shovel. They embrace an attitude which will cast them out from society as soon as they are out of these walls. You teach humans to be kind to non-humans, yet as soon as they enter the world, they will see this is not the way of things. You teach non-humans that humans are not monsters, which means they will be slaughtered at the first corner, expecting that humans will be kind to them. You are feeding them lies.'

_Just what I have been thinking._

However, Geralt was relieved that he didn't ask Ildico about this, because he saw the immediate rise of anger in the smuggler's eyes.

'A child raised in hate will certainly fit in the world you described.' she said calmly, but the witcher saw how much she had to restrain herself. 'A child raised in freedom will change it. They go home, and they show their parents that there is another way.'

Iorveth didn't seem to notice the woman's anger.

'These are only a few poor children.' he said, his voice coloured with a tone that Geralt has never heard before. 'What can you accomplish with that?'

Geralt expected Ildico to burst out, to shout at the elf. Instead, the woman lowered her head, and her voice was hollow.

'If a dragon does it, it's the only way. If a dh'oine, it's a lie.'

With that, she walked into the kitchen, never waiting for Iorveth's answer.

The elf stared after her, unable to move.

_Well, we wanted an answer. We got it._

'That kinda shows how much the Scoia'tael is interested in their people.' Dereol murmured under his nose. 'Hate for hate, and it never ends.'

Triss took her hand on his shoulder.

'I'd keep quiet now if I were you.'

At that moment, the kitchen door opened and Ildico returned, holding a piece of meat in her hand - which she immediately smacked on Dereol's swollen face.

'There. Sorry for the slap.'

Dereol touched the meat and gasped.

'What is… why is that… this stings!'

Ildico shrugged.

'I didn't find a clean slice, I had to take it from the marinated ones for dinner.'

Dereol looked at her with utter desperation.

'So, it is soaked in salt and garlic…' His voice faded into squealing.

'At least it's cold. You deserve that much.' Ildico said without any smile and with that, she left the court and disappeared on the stairs that led to the bedchambers.

Triss giggled. Geralt swallowed to hold back his laughter and glanced at Iorveth, indicating him to follow them to the sleeping quarters.

Iorveth nodded to him, then he looked at Dereol.

'One more sound, kid, and you'll end up in the marinating bowl as well, chopped up.' he said darkly.

Dereol bit on his lips and remained silent.


	10. Whisky in the tea

After a well-rested night in a proper bed - you wouldn't believe how much that contributes to the overall peace of mind -, I got up. Triss was still sleeping in the other bed, so I let her rest and walked out of our room.

I went to the kitchen for some rolls and a cup of tea. Marika, who was working around with the breakfasts, winked at me.

''Want some whisky in that mug, Ildi?'

After a moment of hesitation, I smiled. She knew me too well and she knew I would need the stamina.

'Bring it on, Marika.' I laughed at her, then walked out of the kitchen and sat down on a bench.

After a few minutes, Geralt walked out of the room he shared with Iorveth, he came up to me and sat down next to me.

'Want some?' I offered him a roll.

'Thanks.' he smiled and accepted one, biting in it at once.

'We're in for a lovely morning.' I told him. 'We leave within the hour.'

Geralt looked at me while still chewing.

'Saeros and Miklos. The guys we are going to visit. They were the ones who saved you.' he said. 'Letho brought you to them.'

'Yeah.' I nodded. 'They stitched me back together, kept me around for a few years, tutored me when they saw my potential. They gave me the chance to carry on.'

'I still hardly can believe it.' he said. 'A human brings a human to an elf and a dwarf and they agree to look after her without hesitation.'

I chuckled.

'As Miklos always says, levels of asshole are not determined by the form of the auricle.'

'Quite a progressive view on the world.'

'Not that surprising, if you think about it.' I said. 'The vicinity of Dol Blathanna always gave some resilience in this matter. Most people just want to live along and prosper. And if there is a possibility to do that, you might discover that your pointy or rounded eared neighbour is not that bad as you had thought. Or on the contrary, he is just as a big ass you had thought him to be.' I drank a sip from my tea and felt the familiar warmth of the whisky in my stomach. 'Miklos and Saeros always knew their ways in that.'

'And I guess they know everything about our little mess.' Geralt chuckled. 'They know what I know, they know what Triss knows and they know that Iorveth knows shit. It's gonna be an entertaining conversation.'

'Don't you fear for them.' I smiled. 'They are smooth bastards, no wonder they could keep up for so many years.'

Geralt paused for a while.

'Actually, Ildi, subtlety is lost on you. I was trying to say that we're risking our lives for a shady business.' he said and now there was no joke in his voice. 'I know you didn't tell everything to me. And I don't really like such situations, to say the least. What do you know of Arondir aep Tavassoth? What has he done that you want to finish him off?'

The question came so suddenly I hardly could conceal my troubled face. Geralt had a good eye. He gently put his hand on my shoulder.

'What is it, Ildico?' he asked softly.

'Geralt, I…' I stuttered and shook my head. 'I cannot tell you about this. Please, believe me - I have every reason to ruin him.'

'And I have every reason not to believe you.' He looked at me sterny, his grasp became firm. 'I presume, you have heard about Philippa Eilhart? She wasn't the secret-sharing kind of person, either.'

'I am not Philippa Eilhart!' I objected angrily.

'I know that, Ildi.' Suddenly Geralt softened again. 'But you must understand why I'm saying this. Iorveth…'

I shook his hand off my shoulder.

'Leave me alone with Iorveth!' I said angrily. 'I saved the life of three elven girls and Iorveth wanted to slit my throat for it! He deemed the gathering of our children a lie! How the hell am I to trust someone like that, Geralt? How?'

The witcher rolled his eyes.

'You know what? That's the exact same question he keeps asking me about you.'

'I didn't know I was such a popular topic in your merry bromance.' I said bitterly.

'To tell the truth, I'm also starting to get sick of it, but what can I say, he is such a fan.' he replied dryly.

'Oh, I'm so flattered.' I spat and turned away from him. 'I need Iorveth because of his skills. Not because of his approval.'

Geralt remained silent for a long time.

'Ildi, as a leader of a coterie, you must know above else that without trust, there is no success in a mission.' he said. 'Do you know why you don't have Iorveth's approval?'

'Is that a trick question?' I asked, eyebrows raised. 'I'm only a filthy dh'oine, with no witcher skills neither the ability to turn into a dragon. Did I answer correctly?'

He didn't put himself out for my mockery.

'Because you, a friend of elves, a woman so important in the fight for the freedom and equality of races, doesn't believe in his redemption.' he said gravely, then placed his hand on my back again. 'You should trust him. I don't deny that he is a special kind of bastard, but when needed, he's pathologically loyal. His Scoia'tael would follow him into hell itself. That is quite telling.'

I shook my head again. I buried my face in my hands, holding back the tears. Nothing is more pathetic than to soften a man with crying.

But still, I could not tell him.

I couldn't relive all those years in the dark, crying out for justice in vain. I couldn't relive the memories, because they would have shattered me. I couldn't see that pair of eyes again. I couldn't explain how I see those eyes again in Iorveth's gaze.

And I couldn't explain why I still wanted to help him.

They must not know.

I took a deep breath and faced the witcher.

'There is something you must understand, Geralt.' I said, and he listened to me attentively. 'What I ask you to do concerns the state of the free Pontar Valley. It is a matter of state. After what you have seen here, I think you can accept that Vergen is something I am ready to support with all my might.'

He nodded, encouraging me to continue.

'As for me, Arondir aep Tavassoth is a private matter. If there was no Vergen, I'd probably simply stay out of his sight, never to hear of him again. Your Squirrel friend was right, I wouldn't be concerned the least who rules Dol Blathanna, no matter how much I know about him, no matter how I could eliminate him. It wouldn't be worth it.' I sighed. 'But now that he threatens the free Pontar Valley… I cannot let him do this, Geralt. Whatever connection we had before. It's just simply a matter of luck that I know what I know. Is that enough?'

He looked at me with a great deal of observance.

'You are deadly afraid of this elf.' he said, very silently.

His words ripped up some very old wounds. Like my body would have frozen, I could not move.

Geralt had no mercy.

'Was he the cause why you ended up in Vengerberg?' he asked.

I trembled.

'Nice catch.' I moaned. Then I could not keep myself together anymore, I buried my face in my hands and felt tears running down on my face.

He slid next to me, held me in his arms and cradled me like he would cradle a baby. I quickly regained my serenity, but I didn't let him go. At that moment, he was my only anchor in the world to safety.

'I promise I will tell the whole story to you someday.' I murmured quietly. 'I swear I won't endanger your lives.'

'More than it is endangered anyway, you mean?' he chuckled and I couldn't help but laugh with him.

At that moment, Iorveth's voice came from Geralt's back, as the elf opened the door of their room.

'Geralt, I understand that it is an irresistible need for you to sleep with every woman in the Northern Kingdoms, but I believe it's time to go. Where is…'

'... that lousy skylark of a whore?' I slipped out of Geralt's arms and stood up to face the elf. Iorveth stared at me surprisedly, but he immediately regained control over his expression.

'I meant to say your name, smuggler, but whatever you wish.' he bowed to me malignantly.

Geralt silently sighed.

'I get Triss.'

'I get her, you wait at the gate!' I said fast, then turned around and ran to the upper levels, not even waiting for Geralt's answer.

I felt my face burning with shame.

_Ladies and gentlemen, a grown-up woman._

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt of Rivia, Doctor of Clinical Psychology!


	11. Infiltration or bust

'I presume 'Bookkeeping & Accountancy' is only a cover company, isn't it?' Geralt asked, examining the beautiful glass in which we received the wine. Saeros took it seriously that I would bring my friends. I knew that he valued that glass set above anything else.

Their parlour was filled with antiquities, I still remember how I loved sitting here when I lived with them, although Miklos always threatened me that if I would break anything, he would chop off my hand with his axe. Once, I managed to break off the spear of the queen figure on Saeros's old chess set. I never dared to tell them. A year later, Miklos had his accident; after that, he could hardly lift an axe for a while. So it didn't matter anymore.

They restructured the room, so Miklos could easily use his special chair without damaging anything in the room. The chair was an invention of the local dwarven blacksmith; it was equipped with wheels so Miklos was once again able to go nearly anywhere he wanted. I remember, his first solitary road led to his old friend, the barber. He got a new hair and trimmed his beard; and so he did every week since then.

Saeros, on the other hand, was much more modest, though with a hair like his, I wouldn't ever visit the hairdresser neither. I knew some elves in my life, but Saeros had the most beautiful golden hair, flowing down on his back, like a river woven from the essence of sunshine. He always wore simple tunics and trousers; like he knew that his hair made a statement about him at once, there was no need for anything else. Miklos sometimes giggled that in his youth, Saeros was the bee that every flower of Dol Blathanna longed for. Knowing that in the neighbourhood, there were at least a dozen elven, human and dwarven maidens deadly in love with him, I believed it without hesitation. However, he was now an old elf, solely occupied by his business: 'Morquend & Ferenczy Bookkeeping & Accountancy'. At least, this was written on the signboard.

He gave a friendly smile to Geralt.

'In my opinion, in this economy, even the Wild Hunt needs a second job.' he winked.

'You didn't answer my question.' Geralt pointed out.

'Do you need bookkeeping, witcher?' Saeros asked, smiling, then not even waiting for Geralt's answer, he added:

'If ever in need, feel free to contact us.'

Geralt chuckled; he understood the hint.

'Unfortunately, in my job, I rarely have to invoice my earnings.'

'The less paperwork, the better.' Miklos nodded as he drank a gulp from his glass. 'Although I wouldn't be surprised if some whoreson in the upper circles would lay down a regulation even for witcher jobs.'

'But such skilled professionals like you always know a loophole, don't you?' Triss smiled at Saeros; clearly she was enchanted by his beauty as well.

He was not confused.

'Loopholes are the essence of life in many fields, Miss Merigold.' he nodded. 'Ours is not an exception… as I heard, this is exactly why you came to us.'

He looked directly at me and under his gaze, I felt cold running down my spine. I wrote him a letter previously, explaining the situation, what are we planning to do and how. I asked him to help me. There was only one problem: he was the one whom I promised I would never walk this road. Judging by his expression, he obviously didn't forget about this, but as he released my gaze, I sighed. We will talk about it - but not now.

Saeros looked directly at Iorveth.

'Well, Fox.. You really must be a pain in the ass for Nilfgaard.' he said, but with little sympathy.

Iorveth let himself a slight grin.

'Nilfgaard doesn't like it when their plans go up in smoke.' he snorted. 'They are not only after me, but the Iron Wolf as well. Some years ago, they even offered me to be a crown witness. TI was asked to betray him, in exchange for a lifelong stay at a quite cozy prison.'

'I don't think I have to guess your answer.'

Iorveth leaned back with a vicious grin.

'As I got no message, there was no messenger. ' he said. 'And if there was no messenger, no one could return my answer. Pitiful situation, it was.'

An appreciative half-smile appeared on Saeros's face.

'If we were in a fairytale, you could have tricked them with some epic move. Let's say, you agree to the show, then you refer to the Right of the Namegiver.' he chuckled. 'It might have even been successful.'

'Hardly.' Iorveth said. 'The Right of the Namegiver can be referred to only by free citizens, and I would have been a convict as well.'

'The right of what?' Geralt asked, puzzled.

'A legal practice, originating in elven jurisdiction. It is unknown in Redania or Temeria, but in the east from the Mahakam Mountains and in Dol Blathanna, sometimes it is still in use… though rarely in our days.' Saeros explained patiently. ' In the elven judicial system, if someone is placed under a charge, they not only lose their authenticity, but their name, their whole identity as well. The Right of the Namegiver is basically a sacred right for vouching - the voucher stands by the accused with all his life, might and power, thus giving the accused back his name, who faces much better chances during his trial in this way.'

'What a romantic nonsense.' Geralt remarked dryly.

'You'd be surprised.' Saeros smiled. 'It has actually worked several times.'

'Pink unicorn fantasy.'

'Have you ever actually seen a unicorn, witcher?' Saeros scoffed, but never waited for Geralt's answer. 'It works because it has a weight; to trust someone to such a scale requires huge resources, both psychological as well as material. Of course, no one would care for the namegiving of a poor peasant or a beggar, but if someone with an actual name vouches for the accused, that can easily turn the tides.'

'And how many murderers and thugs escaped that way?'

'As many as innocent and noble ones.' Saeros replied calmly. 'For someone who is able to identify pink, you have rather black view on the world, witcher.'

'You are nonhumans in a human town and you are talking to us about black views?' Iorveth asked with a hint of despise.

'We were saved by a human sorceress during the pogrom in Vengerberg.' Miklos replied sternly. 'Try again, Fox.'

Iorveth's grin evoked a wolf's savage grin. 'I'd be long dead if I trusted the benevolence of the dh'oine.'

'And you nearly died because you placed your trust in your brethren.' Miklos pointed out.

I was at the brink of interrupting - among others, this was exactly the topic in which there was absolutely no point in talking to Iorveth. But to my surprise, suddenly he shrugged.

'I guess I just should hate everyone equally.' he said sourly. 'There's no failure in that.'

'Now, I like how you think.' Miklos chuckled.

'I'm glad to see the understanding.' Saeros smiled at Iorveth, with a shadow of warning. The commander's face stiffened, but he didn't answer.

Saeros looked at me.

'Now, _sor'ca_ *, I think it is time you presented to us what are you planning and in what ways we can help you.' he said.

I took a deep breath and put down my glass.

'We are going to Cysgodol Palace.' I said.

There was a moment of silence before Triss's excited voice broke it.

'A palace? A real elven palace?'

'Yes, one of the very few remaining in the Northern Kingdoms.' I answered. My companions and my mentors all looked at me with certain degrees of attention, woven together with interest, suspicion and curiosity. 'The Cysgodol Palace is located on the western hills of the Dol Blathanna basin, and it is the domicile of Chulainn aep Shivrael, vassal and close friend of Arondir aep Tavassoth. He kind of acts as his chamberlain, he is in possession of the ambassador's correspondence as well. That is our main target.'

I looked directly at Saeros.

'We have to infiltrate the palace and get the correspondence. I believe you have some maps and information about that area. What is the daily routine of the palace? How well is it guarded? What kind of magic barriers are around it?'

Saeros stroked his chin.

'Chulainn aep Shivrael.' he said, thoughtfully. 'Good old Chulainn. He is just as a fine gentleman as his overlord. Luckily for him, he is only a small fish in a pond and always pays in time.'

He looked at me again, and I felt my muscles become tense. He knew that I have met Chulainn before and I knew well what he was talking about.

_Please, otorno**, don't give me away._

He didn't give me away. He did something worse.

'But why would you want to infiltrate the palace?' he smiled at me with his kindest smile. My heart immediately sunk.

'To, erm... get in somehow?' I said. It sounded pathetically even to my own ears. Iorveth snorted.

'This is ridiculous.' he murmured.

'Actually, Ildico's plan is not bad at all.' Saeros turned to him. 'It's just we have a better option which would facilitate a much easier access into the castle.'

I was happy that he defended me, but the vicious gleam in his eyes promised nothing good.

'What do you mean?' Geralt asked.

Saeros looked at Miklos, who drank a sip from his glass and showed us two sealed letters.

'Chulain aep Shivrael usually celebrates Velen with his nearest and dearest friends and associates… including us.' he smiled. 'We are old geezers, so we didn't attend in the past two years… but let's say, we have two very promising associates whom we would like to introduce to Chulainn very much. With their beautiful, newlywed spouses of course, as the invitations are for two people, each.'

A few moments of silence was broken again by Triss.

'So, I guess that makes me Mrs Witcher for one night?' she giggled.

Geralt's laughter was a mixture of joy and embarrassment, that was no surprise if one knew about his relationship to the sorceress. I knew he had no real objections in playing Triss's husband for an evening.

But at that moment, as I looked at Iorveth, I realized what the plan meant for me. I guess he came to the same conclusion at the very same moment, because his eye widened and his jaw dropped.

'No.' I said, still looking at him. 'No, no, no, no, no…'

'We understood at the first 'no', _sor'ca_.' Saeros interrupted and looked at me sternly. 'What is your problem? It's only for one night and it leaves a reasonably wider range of possibilities for you to act.'

Iorveth's husky voice interrupted. 'Remind me again, what the actual hell am I doing here?'

Geralt looked at him.

'Saving your ass, maybe?'

Iorveth looked back at him.

'Can't I just simply go and get myself hanged? I'll end up at the gallows sooner or later anyway.'

I couldn't resist the stab. 'Well, I think that's a great idea.'

'Ildico!' Saeros snapped at me and now he really looked angry.

'I beg your pardon' Geralt interrupted, before I could answer', but I think an elven-human couple would certainly draw far more attention than it would be desired in this case.'

Saeros shook his head.

'Not in this part of the Northern Kingdoms.' he said. 'It is not... preferable, let us say, but since elves and humans always lived next to each other on the borders of Dol Blathanna, and especially since the elven state was founded, it is becoming more and more common. Simple economics and sociology. Races living next to each other will always have common subsets.'

'Just what I have always fought for.' Iorveth growled.

'Especially in Vergen.' Geralt said. Iorveth rolled his eyes, but remained silent.

I looked at him angrily, then at Saeros again.

' _Otorno_ , it's not going to play out well.' I objected. 'Someone might recognize him and then we are all doomed!'

'Like you yourself wouldn't have to apply some camouflage, _sor'ca_.' Saeros said and looked at Iorveth. 'I suppose you don't always wear that red headscarf, friend.'

'No.' Iorveth said dryly. 'On Sundays, I wear a floral bonnet.'

'Luckily, the party is on a Friday.' Miklos chuckled.

'If magic for cosmetic purposes is allowed, I can conceal his scar a bit.' said Triss. 'An eyepatch won't hurt anyone's feelings, there are always a lot of war veterans on parties.'

'Are you already dressing us up, Triss?' Geralt chuckled.

Triss looked at him with admiration.

'You have know idea what I have in mind.'

'It seems it is decided, then. We will discuss the details later.' Miklos said with a smile.

I buried my face in my hand. As I heard Iorveth's muffled voice, I knew I was not the only one.

' _Bloede arse._ '

* * *

I returned to the headquarters in the evening with a heavy heart.

' _What have I done to you.' I sighed._

_Miklos, my beloved mentor, one who was a father to me, caressed my head._

' _It was sealed on the night when Letho brought you to us, luned***. Our fates entwined. Don't be sad for a moment_ _.'_

' _But atar****… Otorno!' I cried out. 'What if something goes wrong? Chulainn will know that we have your invitations, he will find you!'_

_His usual mysterious half-smile appeared on Saeros's face._

' _Nothing will go wrong, sor'ca. You managed it before, you'll manage it in the future. And if anything might happen… you know us.' He sneered. 'We have our little ways.'_

_I looked at him._

' _You don't agree with me.'_

_He looked back at me, his gaze was stern._

' _Sor'ca, I understand why are you doing this. Hell, who could understand better? But still, you broke your promise to me.'_

' _You made me the person who broke her promise.'_

_He laughed._

' _Sneaky little creature. Don't lose your wit in the Cysgodol Palace… you'll need it.'_

' _Go now, rest.' Miklos said. 'Tomorrow we'll talk again.'_

'Everything all right?' Geralt asked when I entered the courtyard. He was sitting on a bench, smoking a pipe.

'More or less.' I said. 'Not counting what is waiting around the corner.'

'If you mean the dinner, it's goulash.' he smiled, making me happier at once.

'I guess you don't get that cockatrice in the sewers tonight then.' I smiled at him and Geralt nodded, widely grinning. Miklos asked him to kill off that thing, offering good money. He gave no official explanations, but I think Geralt could easily guess that it was blocking our routes under the city. Local wildlife or not, it wasn't beneficial for business.

I started towards the kitchen, but seeing that the light was still on in the smithy, I stopped and blinked at the other side of the courtyard.

'What the hell Iorveth is doing in the forge?' I asked after a moment, looking at the working elf.

'He's making something.' Geralt answered. I looked at him curiously, but he shrugged. 'Hell knows what. Creativity eases the mind and he surely needs some of that.'

I didn't reply. I turned back to the light. They say once elves were the best smithes in the world, but I've never seen one working with iron before.

Iorveth tucked the smith's apron into his trousers. He didn't wear a shirt, sweat ran down on his chest, stomach and arms, leaving shining marks on his skin as he hammered the piece of heated iron laid on the anvil. His tattoo ran down on his chest, following the curves of his muscles, interrupted by old scar marks here and there; the light of the fire painted a shadow play on his body. Like he would perform some kind of dance, his movements were graceful and of someone who knows his craft well.

'The scenery is so nice at this time of the day, isn't it?'

I let out a deep breath as I looked at the witcher. He was sneering so widely, were it not for his ears, he would have surely grinned all over his skull.

'Plough yourself, Geralt.' I said, then turned around and left him there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sor'ca - little sister (Elder speech - Witcher)  
> **Otorno - brother (Quenya - Tolkien)  
> ***Luned - daughter (Elder speech - Witcher)  
> ****Atar - father (Quenya - Tolkien)
> 
> So this is where I'm now, other chapters are currently under work. Probably no updates in the upcoming few weeks because of an eye surgery. Until then, let me know what you think!


	12. If it's an old friend's home, does it count as burglary?

Geralt couldn’t remember when was the last time when he had been so amused. He was well-fed with delicious stew, had a few minutes to smoke his pipe and had a great time watching the strangely philanthropist smuggler, blushing like a teenage girl when she first sees a male body in her life.

Not like the male body in question would have behaved in a much more mature way. Ildico pointedly looked at the kitchen door while going there, not glancing to one side or the other. When Iorveth recognized her, he had his eyes on her for a few moments until she disappeared in the kitchen. Then he angrily shook his head and returned to work. Geralt even heard his growl.

_One way or another, ideals are often shaken by reality._

The witcher silently laughed, then suddenly his forehead darkened. A name glowed in his newly found memories.

 _Milva_.*

 _Poor, dear Milva_ …

Geralt looked up again at the working elf. The urge to laugh somehow went away.

His thoughts were disturbed by a flash of red hair, as Triss suddenly sat down next to him.

‘Hi.’ he said.

‘Hi, Geralt.’ Triss greeted the witcher. ‘Are you still in for some action tonight?’

He winked at her.

'Sure, my roomate has other things to tend to anyhow.' he smiled lightly. 'And that cockatrice can wait until tomorrow.'

Triss blushed.

'I didn't mean that way, Geralt.' she said. 'I need some actual help. If I recall well, Yennefer had a shop in this town, somewhere.’

Geralt heavily coughed after a sudden inhale. Triss patted his back, afraid.

‘It’s all right, witcher, it was just a question!’

‘But where did it come from, exactly?’ Geralt asked between two coughing fits.

Triss waited until his cough subsided a little.

‘I’m sorry, I should have prepared this question better.’ she said, looking remorseful. ‘It’s just… I heard she sold various cosmetic and beauty potions, which gave the wearer uncommon prettiness and concealed their skin imperfections. If I could get some of those, I could make perfect draughts for us to mask ourselves. I mean, only Ildico has a kind of low-key profile amongst us and even she needs some cover-up. And I’m pretty sure Yen left some storage there… and that she guarded them with several spells.’

‘Why are you so sure?’ Geralt asked, with some last weak coughs.

Triss smiled at him sadly.

‘You know as well as I do.‘Yen is very cautious. As long as it is… ‘ She hesitated for a moment, like she would be afraid of what she was going to say. ’... not about you.’

‘Oh.’

_A wild pair of violet eyes and lustrous black hair. She was so beautiful... and untameable. She always did what she thought was right, wildly and harshly._

‘Geralt?’

The gentle voice and gleaming turquoise eyes brought him back to reality. He looked at Triss.

‘Do you remember where the shop was?’ she asked, very silently and very softly.

He closed his eyes to see a street, a row house with a blackened door and dark windows which have seen no light from the outside for many years.

‘I do.’

He heard her voice from a distance.

‘And will you accompany me there?’

 

* * *

 

‘I think you should embroider that into your clothes. It could be your family motto!’

Geralt was in the middle of entangling in a rope, hanging in the darkness, in a very old, very dusty, very dark attic.They decided it would be best if they entered the old house from above; it is never known what guards an entrance and they didn't want to make a bigger mess than it was absolutely unavoidable.

Ten minutes later, Geralt deeply regretted this decision.

‘What?’ he snorted, while trying to keep his balance.

‘What you are thinking of now.’

‘All those inappropriate swearings? They would do just fine on a banner.’ he snapped to the direction of Triss, who was standing next to the hole on the roof, through which they lowered that ominous rope.

‘I mean, what those swearings illustrate!’ came the answer. ‘ _What the hell am I doing here again?'_

Geralt moaned.

‘Perfectly worded.’ he hissed, then lost his balance again. ‘Triss, there’s no end to this attic! I should have touched the floor a while ago!’

‘Hm. It must be a space expanding spell.’ Triss talked to herself aloud, then cried down into the darkness. ‘It's only an illusion, Geralt, it can be broken easily! I’m releasing you, be ready!’

‘Wait, what…’

Before the witcher could press out an intelligent sentence, he felt the rope becoming loose and he was falling.

Thankfully, the floor was not far away, indeed. Triss was right about the spell.

However, the sudden creaking sound was not so calming.

‘I’m coming after you!’ the sorceress cried.

Geralt looked up, horrified.

‘Triss, wait…!’ he shouted, but too late. Triss jumped down next to him, and with that, the floor gave up and with a crack, it broke under them.

The sorceress and the witcher shrieked as they landed on the next floor.

‘Well… shit.’ Geralt moaned as he sat up clumsily. Triss seemingly didn’t hurt herself either, she kneeled up and started to shook out the dust from her hair.

‘What kind of magic was this?’ Geralt asked dryly. Triss looked at him with raised eyebrows.

‘Sloppy engineering.’ she replied in the same tone, then cried out, as three lightpoints appeared next to them, quickly turning into wraiths. ’But these are not!’

‘So it seems!’ Geralt quickly stood up and drew his silver sword, sending the Aard sign toward the first wraith. It quickly maneuvered along his spell and attacked him, followed by its company. Triss sent a misdirection hex towards them; this gave enough time for the witcher to get back his stance and quickly finish off the first wraith. However, the two other soon regained consciousness and flew after the witcher, like they were glued to him.

‘Why are they attacking you?’ Triss cried as she ran after Geralt.

The witcher snorted. He remembered again. He wished he hadn’t remembered so well.

‘It might be a remnant of how I left so suddenly.’

‘Sudden leaves don’t provoke such attacks!’

Geralt snorted as he evaded a new attack.

‘Okay, I may have left suddenly without noticing Yennefer!’

‘You what…?!’ Triss shrieked. ‘You left my friend alone without a word?!’

Now it was Geralt’s turn to get angry.

‘Not like someone wouldn't have slept with her friend’s lover when she had the tiniest chance!’

‘Not like you needed any convincing, asshole!’ Triss shouted; then suddenly, she started sobbing and and hitting the witcher at the same time. Geralt was totally confused what to do. He glanced sideways - the wraiths seemed quite surprised.

‘Triss!’ the witcher tried to shout over the sorceress’s anger. ‘You may start to calm down, because as soon as the wraiths finish laughing their asses off, we will be in trouble!’

‘Oh, to hell with it!’ Triss snarled then turned away from Geralt and sent a paralyzing spell towards the wraiths.

Geralt took the opportunity and with a sideway blow, finished off the second wraith. The third one just started to come alive, breathing ice in the witcher’s face, but he rolled away and with a strong swift, the third wraith was no more either.

However, Geralt had no time for relief, because - _how original!_ \-  the floor started to creak.

‘This again?’ he cried and in the next moment, they were falling and shouting.

There was silence for a few moments, then Geralt freed his leg from the wooden rubble. This second time, it hurt a little more.

‘Triss?’ he asked from the dust cloud. ‘Triss?’

‘Please tell me there is no basement.’ A moan came from another pile.

 'As far as I remember, we arrived.' said Geralt, hissing, looking at his bleeding knee. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I think I have a splinter in my finger.’ came the answer, in a dry voice.

‘You poor little thing.’ Geralt murmured, then made his way to other pile of the debris and pushed it away from Triss.

She coughed from the dust, and sat up. Seemingly, there was no harm done to her, aside from a bleeding bruise on her forehead. Her tears left shining trails on her dirty face.

Geralt finally let himself to be relieved. He sat down, leaning against Triss’s back. She sighed while they both looked around.

‘This must have been the shop.’ Triss stated, looking at the potions, vials, boxes on the shelves. The chamber might have been undisturbed for a couple of years; there was no sign of life anywhere. Not counting the houseguarding wraiths, of course.

‘There. I think I’ll need that elixir.’ Triss pointed somewhere on the shelf. ‘I have to… get up. Just a minute.’

‘Ahem.’ Geralt acknowledged her discovery.

After a while, Triss coughed again.

‘I swear I’ll kill that bitch.’ she said, silently. ‘Then I’ll kill you. Then I’ll probably kill myself.’

‘M-hm. In that order?’ asked Geralt.

There was a moment of silence from Triss’s side.

‘I’ll think about it.’

Geralt looked at a particularly nicely looking blue vial.

‘Triss?’

‘M-hm?’

‘I’d rather you wouldn’t.’

Triss hesitated.

‘Just a little?’

‘No.’

She sighed.

‘You’re no fun.’

She leaned back her head against his shoulder to rest a little.

Geralt reached for her hand.

_If that day comes when I have to face both of them… I’d rather kiss a kayran._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Milva is a character in Andrzej Sapkowski's Witcher-series. Her Witcher Wiki-page might give some insight why Geralt thinks of her: http://witcher.wikia.com/wiki/Milva  
> However, I highly recommend reading about her in the books, she is easily one of the best characters.


	13. You forget the socks for one night and weird things happen at once

I should have remembered to put on socks for sleeping. September nights tend to be quite chilly in Vengerberg, of course I woke up to my feet freezing. The sun shone through the window, so it was time to get up anyway.

I saw that Triss’s bed was empty - she probably had other, khm, engagements this night.

I stretched myself, put on some clothes that qualified as outerwear, then walked out from the room.

I nearly froze to the doorknob when I saw Marika and Iorveth standing in front of the kitchen door. For a moment, I was ready to jump, to defend the old woman, but after a moment of evaluation, I saw no hostile gestures in their conversation. On the contrary: Marika smiled happily at the elf, holding something in her right hand, while kindly touching Iorveth’s shoulder with the other. He seemed tense, but didn’t step away. He bowed stiffly to Marika, then walked back to the smithy.

_I really should have put on those socks. It seems I’m in a fever dream already._

I slowly walked down the stairs, to the kitchen door where Marika was still holding that something in her hand, looking at it mesmerized.

‘Ildi!’ she smiled when she saw me. ‘Look, what that Squirrel made for the children!’

She gave that mysterious thing to me. I gasped as I recognized it: it was an abacus. Iron spheres on a wooden frame, decorated with beautiful engravings. The wood was carved with the same curvy ornaments I saw on Iorveth’s quiver, enameled with a dark red varnish.

It was a masterpiece.

‘It’s beautiful.’ I whispered.

Marika coughed.

‘You should thank him.’ she said.

I looked at her, alarmed.

‘Haven’t you already…’

‘That’s not the same.’ she interrupted me sternly. ‘You are the one who started all this. Without you, I wouldn’t be here either. You are the one who owes him and you know that.’

Yeah, I knew it.

I gave back the abacus to Marika.

‘All right, I’ll do it.’

She smiled at me with vicious kindness. I growled something, then I bit on my lips and started towards the forgery.

_Why did he do this?_

I hardly dared to lift up my gaze when I stopped at the entrance.

‘Thank you. The abacus is beautiful.’ I muttered into space before I actually looked around.

Iorveth was cleaning up the wooden splinters.

He rested his eye on me for a moment, but said nothing and turned back to the anvil.

I watched his movements. What did he used to say? _War is prose, with no place for beauty._ Yet as I watched him as he cleared up after making that beautiful abacus, I thought of his quiver. The quiver which had a simple, yet fine embroidery, bringing some hidden magic into his life of constant blood and pain.

I thought of his flute. That tune in the forest of Flotsam.

Still, I didn't understand.

_Why?_

He finished cleaning the anvil, and without taking notice of me, he moved on to the water bucket and started to wash his chest and arms.

_Okay, this might require a little bit more concentration than I thought._

‘I heard how you saved the day in the siege of Vergen.’ I said.  

Iorveth turned to me suspiciously. I looked at him calmly. His dismissive posture somewhat relaxed.

‘When nobody believed I was coming back?’ he asked tonelessly, turning back to the bucket.

The silence was only broken by the water splashes.

‘Geralt believed.’ I said.

Iorveth lifted up his right arm to wash his armpit and torso under it.

‘Did he?’ he asked, still not looking at me.

‘I believe he used the phrase “pathologically loyal” when he talked about you.’ I answered.

He gave a short glance, but at this time, I saw a shadow of approval in his green eye. Still, he didn’t answer; he squeezed the washing cloth in the bucket.

I had to admit that I could have watched him for a quite a bit of time, but after a few minutes, I felt the silence becoming awkward. I had no idea how to continue.  Although he didn’t seem as disdainful as he was until now (as far as I could tell from his back muscles), but he wasn’t in an urge to engage me in a conversation either.

‘Since when have you lived in the forests of Flotsam?’ I asked the first thing which popped into my mind.

He slammed down the cloth impatiently.

‘How curious.’ he snarled at me. ‘Why are you suddenly so interested?’

I felt my anger rising, but with a deep breath, I remembered: weeks of mutual bickering don’t do well for the belief in sincerity.

‘Okay, Squirrel, how about playing a game?’ I asked and sat down on the bench placed next to the wall, looking firmly at him. ’I ask one question from you; you ask one question from me.’

He watched me as if he would have seen a doppler, but he took the opportunity at once, like a predator snapping at its prey.

‘All right.’ he said. ‘What is your connection to Letho?’

_The question of questions._

I lowered my head.

‘He saved me twelve years ago, from an… accident.’

His eye gleamed.

‘Which was no accident.’

_Well, it took considerably shorter amount of time for him to realize this than it took for Geralt._

I hesitated for a moment. His gaze was so intense that I knew he would have immediately noticed if I was lying.

‘No, it wasn’t, but… I would appreciate it if you didn’t ask about that now.’ I said finally.

After a moment of silence, he nodded again.

‘Go on.’

I sank in my memories.

‘He saved me and brought me here, to Saeros and Miklos. I wouldn’t be alive now were it not for him. I wouldn’t have a life.’

He finished washing and put on his shirt. He looked at me thoughtfully, still with a hint of mistrust, as he sat down on the bench next to mine.

But he sat down and didn’t walk away.

‘Sounds strange that he had friends in the nonhuman quarter.’ he said.

‘Letho is a friend of nonhumans.’

Iorveth snorted.

‘So as I have seen.’

After a moment of silence, I said:

‘I don’t mean to exculpate Letho nor do I agree with his methods. But in the end, he fought for the same thing as you do.’

He snorted again, looking at me with the old despise, and his voice was bitter and vitriolic.

‘Well, what have we here, the little dh’oine knows what I’m fighting for?’

I didn’t let him anger me.

‘Constancy. Peace. Freedom. A home. Nilfgaard promised all these to him in exchange for his services.’ I said. ‘Although I have a feeling that the home the emperor offers him will be just as bitter gratitude as the one given to the elves.’

His lips opened, he took a deep breath. As he looked at me, there was ageless sadness in his eye. He lowered his head and didn’t answer.

I thought it was time for my next question.

‘How did you meet Saskia?’

His face seemed to soften a little.

‘In Brokilon.’ he answered.

‘The forest of the dryads?’

‘Yes.’ he nodded. ‘After Isengrim and I escaped the execution where all of our comrades perished, we wandered the North, wounded, barely alive. At a morning, we simply couldn’t go further, collapsed at a glade, let the dh’oine take us, we didn’t care anymore. Everything seemed lost.’

He took a pause, but his eye glowed vividly.

* * *

_‘We woke up in a different forest. Our wounds were stitched up, we got clean clothes, food, water. Ancient sunshine, magic vibrated around us._

_Brokilon._

_A young dryad and a dh’oine woman sat on a branch, the dh’oine listened to the dryad, playing her flute. I even wondered, a human, here?_

_She noticed we were awakening and they came to us. I tried to speak, but the human woman motioned me to stay silent. I would have never obeyed to a Northern dh’oine, not even on the brink of death, but she was so charismatic, so… respectable._

_We stayed in Brokilon until our wounds healed. We spoke a lot to the strange dh’oine, about our cause, freedom, the betrayal that brought us there. She gave us some interesting time with her exquisite ideas. She said everyone should be free and hold equal rights and no race should be placed above the other. Then one day, she showed herself to us in her true form: Saesenthessis, the dragon._

_That was when we understood from where did she bring such philosophies, so uncommon with the dh’oine or our people. She was majestic. But between ourselves, we still belittled her. Equality? From where we came from, our wish of equality was answered by betrayal, blood and tears._

_As we completely healed, the dryads made it clear that it was time for us to leave the forest. Isengrim took his chance, bid me farewell, hoping we would meet again, then departed; probably to Zerrikania. He said he had his share of freedom, romance and fairy tales for a lifetime. I agreed with him, but I wasn’t ready to be defeated. I was furious. I wanted to take revenge on all dh’oine that ever lived._

_Saskia, as the dragon called herself in her human form, was differently inspired by our talks. She dreamed of a state where all would be free and no one should fear to enter. She asked me to join her, but I laughed at her back then. I told her that her views were charming, but I wanted no humans where I lived. She said to me: then what I want has got nothing to do with freedom. I told her: what would she knew about fighting for freedom? I dreamed of freedom in all my life, but she lived in it all her life. The downtrodden need legends, someone whom they can respect, someone who offers them what they hope for, how could she give it to them?_

_She asked me: why don’t I give it to them?_

_But I didn’t want to give hope. On the contrary, I wanted to take all of it, ever given._

_Before all hope would have been taken from me._

_I left Brokilon, soon rebuilt my commando from the hiding Scoia’tael, and from that on, I walked knee-deep in human blood for years. We attacked caravans, even larger settlements... But one day, I heard about the Dragonslayer, the Virgin of Aedirn, the fight she leads in Vergen, a state of freedom and equality, and I knew the dragon-girl succeeded. Funny story… she remembered what I told her. She made a legend for herself, and overcame all odds. I always laughed at her, and now what she wanted was becoming true; while I was sinking deeper and deeper into anguish and desperation and however I hoped for the opposite, human blood didn’t ease that._

_I needed something else. My people needed something else. A future._

_One night, I came to her. She accepted my loyalty oath. She then gave me a flute; a dryad made it to me, back in Brokilon. Saskia was to give it to me only when I pledged loyalty to her and her kingdom._

_She said she would wait for me when the time comes._

_And I answered her call._

* * *

He glared forward. Though he didn’t say any more, in his stance and eye, there was an unspoken burden.

I watched him, who himself claimed that he had walked knee-deep in human blood, burying his face in his hands, crushed under his thoughts.

When all seemed lost to me, I was not alone. I had those who wouldn't leave me, who guided me out of the darkness.

Yet he had no one, aside from a dream, which wasn't even his.

‘You don’t have faith in Saskia anymore?’ I asked, as gently as I could.

There was a long silence.

‘I will always have faith in her.' he answered quietly. 'It's the dream I am not sure of anymore. What will happen to her? How can I defend her and the free Pontar Valley? I'd give my life for it, but what if it is not enough?' He touched his forehead and closed his eye. 'Every time I start to have faith, something happens. I should just simply quit.'

‘Back to the deep woods, sleeping in ditches, massacring innocents?’

He jerked up his head at once and glanced at me sharply, his green eye narrowed. Now, he really looked like the vengeful ghost as his legend described him.

‘I was who I needed to be.’ he said in a low, menacing tone. ‘And I will be again, if need be.’

I felt my stomach harden with fear. My awakening sympathy was shadowed by the knowledge of sitting next to the most infamous murderer of our age, an offspring of human cruelty, who never hesitated paying the blood back with blood. Had we met under different circumstances, I might have never lived.

_Would he have shown me mercy if…_

I shook my head. _Not now._

And then I remembered the quiver, the flute and the abacus. And my compassion won over my fear.

‘And now... who do you need to be?’ I asked.

To my surprise, the question cut him to the quick. Pain struck his face and he glanced on his hands. He didn’t reply.

I didn’t know what to say. After a moment of consideration, I tried something moderately pathetic.

‘If it’s any consolation,’ I said shyly, 'there’s some bacon for breakfast.’

He looked at me flabbergasted, but then, for the first time in the morning, I saw a friendly expression in his gaze.

‘I’ll consider it.’ he said with a faint nod.

With that, I lightly bowed to him, stood up and started towards the entrance, hoping that I have fulfilled Marika’s concept of saying thank you.

‘Hey!’

I turned back to his voice, surprised. Iorveth looked at me thoughtfully, and slowly, he nodded.

‘You’re welcome.’ he said.

I couldn’t help but smile at him widely, but quickly turned away before he could see my reddening cheeks.

I hope.

Fortunately I had an excuse.

Triss and Geralt entered the courtyard, looking like they had crawled over some long abandoned basement filled with dust; muddy, dirty, shaggy, tired, yet they seemed quite content. Triss leaned on Geralt, like she would be injured.

I heard Iorveth standing up behind me and coming to the forgery entrance. Judging by the silence, he was just as puzzled as me.

‘Hi!’ I greeted the great adventurers. ‘I see you had a… rough date?’

Geralt swept a splinter away from his hair.

‘Look who’s talking.’ he said dryly. ‘You and that elf standing next to each other and no blood on the ground? What happened?’

I didn’t have time to answer, because Triss came right up to me and held my face in her hands. Her turquoise eyes were somewhat cloudy.

‘Oh, let me see you, love! Yes, I will darken your hair a little… give some blush on those perfect ivory cheeks… and these eyes, this splendid golden shade...!’

‘Erm… Triss?’ I asked, staring at her. ‘Are you all right? You’re a bit dazed…’

Suddenly, she slid her hands on my hips and squeezed on them, caressing the side of my thighs. I was so surprised I couldn’t even move.

‘And that lovely waist we will cloth in silver and purple…’ she murmured dreamily.

With that, she collapsed into my arms, unconsciously.

‘Right at the best part.’ Iorveth said dryly.

‘Very funny.’ I snapped back while I was trying to get hold of Triss.

‘Exactly how did that date go?’ I asked Geralt, as he came to me to help and folded Triss into his arms.

‘She probably has a small concussion.’ Geralt said. ‘Or she is just asleep. It was a long night.’

‘Concussion?’ I stared at him. ‘Where have you taken her, to the battle of the Sodden Hill?’

‘I have secrets too.’ he said. ‘Now it’s best to take her up to your room, wash her off and take her to bed.’

‘Oh, no, sir, I’ll take care of her.’ I protested. ‘You go and give concussions to the cockatrice in the sewers you’ve contracted about with Miklos!’

‘All right, all right.’ He left it. ‘I’ll go and get that thing while I’m dressed properly.’

‘Wait a moment, I’ll help you.’ Iorveth said suddenly. ‘I could use some fresh air.’

Geralt stared at him.

‘In the sewers?’

Iorveth shrugged his shoulders while he started off towards their room.

‘I’m a simple man, with simple needs.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in the books, Triss's eyes are blue and green in the game. I chose a middle ground with the turqouise color.  
> ***  
> Guys, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kind comments, it gives me wings, literally! I'm still very interested in your opinions, if you have any questions, ideas, suggestions or critiques, feel free to tell me, I really appreciate it! Have a nice weekend! :)


	14. The wondrous wildlife of a sewage system

The sewers of a city are the same everywhere. The oldest layers of a town, covered in everything that comes down from the town, inhabited by everything which has no place in a town.

Or honestly, anywhere.

* * *

‘It’s fucking stinky down here.’

‘You wanted fresh air, you got it.’

* * *

‘Feeling a bit better?’

‘Yeah, sure. Nothing like a refreshing suburban aromatherapy. Now I know what I missed most in the forest.’

‘Was the hydrating arachas lotion not sufficient enough to remove your wrinkles?’

‘Well, do you see wrinkles on me? And now, look at yourself. Do you see wrinkles?’

‘Ass.’

* * *

They nestled up to the wall at a crossroad, scouting ahead. Old stone steps led down to the dirty water. On the surface, unimaginable and undescribable things floated. At least Geralt didn’t even want to find a name for them.

_Think of something nice._

‘You know, Iorveth… That thing… that abacus. It was really… neat from you.’

The elf gave him one of the most scornful looks of their acquaintance.

‘Here I just started to enjoy this literal shithole and you needed to bring feelings into it.’

Geralt restrained a smile.

* * *

‘Does that thing in your neck vibrate already?’

‘Nope.’

‘Are you sure it’s charged?’

‘Iorveth, if you don’t shut up, I’ll hurt you badly.’

* * *

‘But really, Geralt, how did your sorceress manage to end up in such a state?’

‘Some are allowed to like it passionately and fiery, even if you don’t.’

‘Well, pardon me if I like my women staying conscious afterwards.’

‘And where’s the problem? Your pretty smuggler stayed conscious.’

‘She is not _my_ smuggler.’

‘Oh, allow me to rephrase then: the _pretty_ smuggler stayed conscious.’’

‘How old are you exactly, Geralt? Ten?’

‘You’re such a tease.’

‘How about you go and tease the bottom of the canal?’

* * *

‘Since when we have been down here?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘I really should have had some bacon, I’m hungry as hell.’

‘You had the opportunity to have bacon and you didn’t?’

‘It’s been only two days, I didn’t get accustomed to a regular breakfast yet.’

‘You better don’t… who knows when we will have the chance for it again.’

‘Always the optimist. Anyways, I know that. This is why I didn’t.’

‘But Iorveth… bacon!’

‘Shut up.’

* * *

‘Has it actually occured to you that this might as well qualify as our bachelor party?’

‘What the hell?’

‘In a week, we will be married.’

‘But only for a night, thank Dana Méadbh.’

‘Your mother claimed you mad anyways. What would she think of you, marrying a human?’

‘You mean what would she have thought before she died?’

There was a moment of silence.

‘Erm… sorry. I was a jerk.’

‘Nothing new there. But thanks.’

* * *

‘Nothing.’

‘What?’

‘She probably would have said nothing.’

‘You’re kidding me, Iorveth.’

‘Not at all. She was from the Blue Mountains and witnessed the uprising of Aelirenn. After that, she claimed that the gene pool of idiocy was distributed pretty evenly amongst the races and the whole world can go and screw itself, humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, dragons, dopplers alike.’

‘I think I would have loved her.’

‘Yeah, I loved her somewhere along the way too. At least before she disowned me.’

Silence.

‘You keep setting these up on purpose, don't you?’

‘I’m bored. And hungry. And you’re amusingly easy to lure.’

* * *

‘Bachelor party or not, we should have a drink in the evening. Or nine.’

‘But only after a bath.’

‘You are hardly out of the forest, not even married yet, and already so finicky?’

‘I don’t know if you noticed, Geralt, but there was water in the forest of Flotsam as well.’

‘It certainly looked nice in the landscape.’

‘Well, use it to make yourself look nice, or you won’t have me tonight.’

‘You are not my type anyway.’

‘Good. So maybe I get through the day without a concussion after all.’

* * *

‘Shit!’

Geralt’s medallion started to vibrate just a few moments before the feathered, lizard-like creature jumped out of the canal, covering them with dirty water.

‘Look out!’ Iorveth cried as he quickly stepped back and drew his bow, aiming at the beast.

Geralt ran to the other direction, averting the cockatrice’s attention from the elf. He faced the hissing beast and sent the sign of Igni towards it. The monster squealed, jumping in horror from the flames. They didn’t hurt it too much, but it was enough for Geralt to draw out his silver sword and smite at the ornithosaur.

The beast shrieked - Iorveth’s arrow hit it from behind. The monster turned to the direction of the assault, running at the elf, who awaited its incoming with drawn sword, and quickly jumped under it, giving a hit to its left wing.

The canal echoed terribly with the squeal of the beast, as it turned over and jumped towards them. Geralt nodded to Iorveth, who made a face, but followed the witcher into the wastewater without hesitation. The monster flew over, missing them. Geralt sent another Igni to its bare stomach, which finally caused a severe wound on the beast.

Geralt jumped out of the water, following the injured monster which was whimpering on the ground. With a final blow, he ended its life.

Iorveth soon followed him and they stood side by side, gasping for air after the battle.

‘We’re hellishly good.’ said Geralt.

Iorveth, still panting, patted on his shoulder.

‘Just don’t look into the mirror now, buddy.’

The witcher made a disgruntled noise, then bent over and quickly cut off the head of the beast.

‘Will you accompany me to Miklos?’ he turned to Iorveth, but the elf shook his head.

‘Nah. I’d better not show my face around more frequently than it is needed. And I had my fill of revolutionary ideas yesterday. Don’t you dare smirking, vatth’gern.’ he added as he noticed the smile on Geralt’s face.

The witcher slightly bowed his head.

‘As you wish. I don’t think anything interesting would happen, anyway.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short, but the originally intended second part started to come to its own life. Will post that as well in the upcoming days. Of course, there will be nothing of interest in it, as Geralt suspects.  
> Or will there be? Who knows?


	15. The broken queen

Geralt stepped into the house, looking around in surprise. It seems Saeros and Miklos were up to moving; there were traveling boxes all around the rooms, the furniture wrapped up, the servants running up and down.

‘Good afternoon, witcher!’ Miklos rolled into the parlour on his fancy wheeled chair and heartily greeted Geralt, immediately noticing the cockatrice head on his belt. ‘You’ve made sure of this beast? Capital, capital! Come on, here’s your payment. And throw that thing away somewhere, will you? I have several stuffed ones, they’re only good for catching the dust.’

Geralt took the money sack. He didn’t even had to count, by the weight he knew that it contained more orens than they had agreed on. He took it away without further comment - if given, accept it, he learned that long ago.

‘Where is your business partner?’

The dwarf smiled, rolling to one of the drawers.

‘He’s out on a quest, managing our moving.’

‘Why are you moving?’ the witcher asked.

‘Change of air. Also, caution.’ Miklos winked at Geralt. ‘Without an heir to our so beloved prince, things might get a bit tense in our little city in due time… we don’t want to witness it, do we?’

The witcher nearly felt an urge to wink him back.

_I like this scoundrel._

Miklos hummed a cheerful melody while he took out a bottle of brandy out from the drawer, with two glasses.

‘I hope you have time for a quick drink, my friend…’ he said, then stared at the chess set at the top of the drawer in shock. ‘For Melitele’s shining ass, what happened to the white queen’s spear?’

He put down the glasses, reached out and lifted up a small figurine from the chess board.

‘It is broken…oh, shit! I don’t look for several years and it is broken!’

He seemed genuinely sad as he turned to Geralt.

‘I presume the witcher skillset doesn’t include welding?’ he asked.

Geralt bowed his head, knowing that the dwarf is aware of the answer.

‘I’m afraid your presumption is correct, Master Miklos.’

‘Ah, pity.’ He looked at the figurine again, then gently placed it back to the board. ‘Another reason to drink a toast… to my poor white queen.’

Geralt accepted the glass. He felt the warmth of brandy in his stomach; it was very refreshing after the hunt.

He looked at Miklos. He seemed like everyone’s granddad, with his wide smile, clear blue eyes, red cheeks  and long, carefully trimmed beard.

And behind that gentle expression, lay one of the most brilliant and vicious minds of the underworld of the Northern Kingdoms.

‘Why does a dwarf adopt a human girl?’ Geralt asked suddenly.

Miklos looked back at him. He didn’t seem confused about the abrupt change of subject.

‘Hasn’t Ildi bored you to death with this story already?’

Geralt put down his glass.

‘I’ve heard her side. Now I want to hear yours. Why did you do this? What was your angle?’

The dwarf watched him attentively.

‘I suppose simple goodwill is absolutely unacceptable for you, witcher?’

_You won’t get out of this so easily, rascal._

‘Goodwill is nice. Especially with some whipped cream and cherry on its top.‘ Geralt replied with bitter sarcasm. ‘You know what I’m talking about. Where is she from? Doesn’t she have her own family?’

‘She had her own family.’ Miklos said slowly. ’As far as I know, some of them may be alive as well.’

‘Then why is she not with them?’

The dwarf waited, like he would have been thinking about the answer.

‘Because I forbade her to keep contact with them.’ he said finally, looking directly into Geralt’s eye.

The witcher stared at him, shocked.

_So there is a story behind this fabulous adoption after all._

He waited and the displeasure in Miklos’s eyes slowly turned into distant suspicion. He didn’t look threatening, but it seemed like an invisible wall had emerged between them.

‘You are on dangerous territories, witcher.’ the dwarf said. ‘Don’t ask anymore. You don’t need to know about this.’

‘Really?’ Geralt asked back ironically. ‘You know, I’m kind of starting to get sick. We are here to risk our lives for you and you do nothing but hint about shady events, not saying a clear fact?’

‘As far as I am concerned, witcher, you don’t risk your life for us, you risk it for the free Pontar Valley and that amusing terrorist friend of yours.’ Miklos said dryly, then motioned Geralt to stay silent. ‘I know. You think you don’t know enough, but believe me, that’s not true. You know everything that is necessary for your quest. You want to dispose a traitor from his position and you are after the evidences. That’s all. Anything more will lead you to such serious and far-reaching issues which are best to be left in the darkness forever.’

Geralt looked at him intently.

‘Ildico said that it her dealings with Arondir were a personal matter.’

The dwarf slowly nodded.

‘And she didn’t lie.’ He lowered his head. ‘That night, Geralt… She looked like the pigs split in half in a butchery. To live that through… it is definitely a personal matter.’

‘Did Arondir do that to her?’ the witcher asked.

The dwarf shook his head.

‘I will not answer that question.’

‘And yet, master dwarf, if that matter was so serious, why did you even take care of her?’ Geralt asked impatiently. ‘Wasn’t it dangerous for your business? For your lives?’

Miklos sighed.

‘When Letho brought her to us, we only wanted to nurse her back to health, for Letho’s sake. He was an old comrade and a friend. Pity he started to kill kings as a living, but everyone has to get by somehow.’ He caressed his well-combed, thick beard. ‘But after that mountain of a man told us from what circumstances did he save her… It was not a matter of a wounded young girl anymore. I was in doubt for a very long time, and cursed that stupid pork chop at every step for getting us into this idiocy.  I was even ready to kill the girl if there would be no chance for cooperation.’ He snorted. ‘Of course, it would have been difficult to explain it to Letho. It might have taken a day or two to find all my teeth.’

‘Kill her?’ Geralt asked back disbelievingly. ‘Why?’

For a moment, Miklos looked like the nonhumans he had known - struck by fear and afraid of a new threat at every corner. His voice was hollow.

‘So there would be no traces left.’

Geralt felt a shiver running down on his spine.

_This must have been a huge mess, indeed._

‘But she lives.’ he said.

Miklos sadly nodded.

‘It hung by a thread for a time.’ he said. ‘ Her wounds were very serious, it hardly seemed that she would survive, and even after she could speak again... the vixen had quite the temperature, to say the least. But then… she wanted to forget. She accepted everything I set as a condition if she wanted to stay with us. Work for us. Never search her old family again.’

‘Never again?’ This was not the first surprise for Geralt during the conversation. ‘Did she never miss them?’

‘Like I said, some questions have no answers.’ Miklos said sternly. ‘She kept her end of the bargain. Until now.’

‘And you don't have a spare dagger this time?’ Geralt asked sarcastically.

Miklos shrugged.

‘Her plan has a tiny chance of ending up as it would be best for all of us. Quite a big chance of ending up nearly well for everyone. And, of course, there is a chance that the sky falls down and the Wild Hunt takes all of us.’

‘You don’t seem the type of person who builds things on uncertainties.’ Geralt said.

Miklos motioned through the room, showing the traveling boxes.

‘Indeed, I don’t do that, witcher. I am an old, old dwarf, I’ve seen way too many plans go to the dogs and my heart would be broken if my chess set would suffer any more damage.’

‘And wise as it is.’ Geralt agreed. ‘But why do you let her do this now if it can be so dangerous for you?’

‘For a higher cause.’ the dwarf muttered.

Geralt rolled his eyes.

‘That sounds just as good as the lesser evil.’

‘Not quite the iambic pentameter, but it will do.’ Miklos took a pencil in his hand and closely examined it. ‘In the past years, we had no chance for such an action like this. Arondir now holds a high position, from which it is easy to fall very low. Ildico hasn’t become the leader of a coterie by chance either. I never would have helped her if she hadn’t had the talent. There was always a chance that she could be our weapon, and maybe she really will be.’

‘So you would toss her to the odds? Use her as your secret knife in the dark? This is what kind of father you are to her?’ Geralt asked bitterly.

Miklos looked at him sharply.

‘I never would have asked this from her, witcher.’ he said, his voice was hostile. ‘This is her decision. Hers alone. She has a very fundamental reason not to cherish that elven bastard.’

‘I see.’ Geralt nodded. ‘Please don’t stab me with that pencil.’

‘Shouldn’t I?’ Miklos put down the pencil. ‘But graphite and blood go so well together.’

‘Speaking from experience, I presume.’

‘Correct presumption, master witcher.’

The dwarf paused for a while then continued:

’I, for instance, certainly don’t mind if Arondir’s face is finally dug into the mud. Preferably, after all his cranial bones are turned into pulp. The thing is, until now, I couldn’t find a way to make it happen.’

Geralt watched him attentively.

‘You are in deep fear, master dwarf. I sense primal, visceral fear and it doesn’t really calm me.’

Miklos looked at him, his eyes were tired.

‘What you feel in me, witcher, is the shadow of that night, from twelve years ago.’ he said slowly, and for now, he really looked like his age. ‘If something had gone astray then, it certainly would have had terrible consequences, compared to which Loc Muinne would seem as a weekend barbecue. But it is settled now. It will not bother you or your cause anymore.’

‘All right, master dwarf. I guess I have to accept this as an answer. I certainly hope it will not bother us.’ Geralt nodded. ‘Otherwise I'm coming back in the next life as a squirrel and run right up your pants leg.’

‘Don’t you have a special friend to do that for you?’ Miklos chuckled, watching as the witcher stood up to take his leave.

‘Geralt!’ he said suddenly.

‘Yes?’

‘Let there be no mistake, you are not participating in a mere tea party. Even if they actually serve tea in the Palace.’

‘I am very well aware of this.’

Miklos shifted uneasily in his wheelchair.

‘Not like she would not be capable of handling herself, but… can you keep an eye on Ildico from time to time?’

Geralt nodded.

‘We are comrades, we look out for each other.’

‘Of course, this is partly why I am worried... because of that sharp-eyed Squirrel friend of yours.’ Miklos said.

‘Why?’

The dwarf smiled bitterly.

‘I have a thousands reasons for that, witcher. A revolutionary, an elven terrorist, a Scoia’tael so near to Dol Blathanna is dangerous as it is. But I’m afraid we also raised our Songbird to be a revolutionary - yet a very different manner of revolutionary. Seldom do these types go together.’

Geralt wanted to interrupt, but Miklos motioned him to stay silent.

‘I know of the abacus. A nice gesture, but I’m afraid it will prove insufficient in the end. Once a Scoia’tael, always a Scoia’tael… and a dispossessed Aen Seidhe is a considerable threat.’

Geralt shook his head.

‘You misjudge him, master dwarf. He was crucial in winning the siege of Vergen against the Kaedwenis and Saskia has full confidence in him.’

‘I’m glad if I’m proven wrong, but a little... or a lot of caution is never ill-advised.’ Miklos clearly didn't believe Geralt, but politely dropped the subject. He sighed. ‘If everything plays out well, then I’ve not lived in vain. But if I see that kid once again… I lived happily.

Geralt scoffed and a sad smirk appeared on his face.

‘I promise I’ll try to look after your secret weapon. I guess she is not to be killed off anymore.’

‘Come on, witcher, the lass grew on me.’ Miklos said and his blue eyes were gleaming strangely. ’I’m sure you also have dears to your heart who wanted to kill you at first sight.’


	16. Speak, friend, and dance

**Somewhere on the border of Aedirn and Dol Blathanna, 1271, September 22nd  
**

‘Triss is not to be disturbed.’ Geralt appeared on the edge of the clearing. ‘She says she will turn anyone into a frog who approaches that glade.’

Iorveth sneered a little, then turned to his comrades.

‘All right, I hope everyone heard that.’ he said. ‘The witch wants some alone time.’

I swallowed back my laughter. Triss always prepared her magical apparatus alone, she never even let Geralt close.

‘So we have some idle time, I guess.’ I said, as I unsaddled my horse. ‘All right, what’s for dinner?’

The witcher tapped my shoulder.

‘I try to hunt down a rabbit, just for you.’ he said.

'You're too kind.' I replied. 'Maybe I will even set aside a bowl for you.'

'Your generosity does you credit, m'lady.' he bowed to me with a smirk on his lips, then turned to Iorveth. 'Can some of your men help me?'

Iorveth nodded and without a word, he motioned two of his men to help Geralt. They set out to the woods.

The Scoia’tael commander didn’t mind me at all; he ordered his men to set camp and with a group, he walked off to scout the area. I was always amazed how quietly they could move around the forest; it was certainly useful, especially in times like these. We saw a few mercenary groups along our way; we even had to fight a smaller one, none of them ever reached the South. Nilfgaard has to try harder this time.

I turned back to my horse, unpacking the bedrolls and tools it was carrying, then set out to the forest to gather some firewood, trying to forget about the fear in my heart. Tomorrow would be the day; the party will start.

We camped on a rocky mountainside, on the edge of Aedirn; the hills dawning on the horizon marked the borders of Dol Blathanna. A shiver ran down on my spine as I remembered the time when I last saw these mountains.

Twelve years ago.

I never wanted to return.

And now I’m heading towards them.

* * *

 We prepared everything.

A carriage would have drawn unnecessary attention, so we got four horses; they were better suited to travelling merchants, anyway. One of our sacks contained our evening clothings; Triss didn’t joke when she said we had no idea what she had in mind for us. I hadn’t seen Geralt or Iorveth in their evening garments, but ours with Triss were indeed quite fine.

Saeros had a map drawn about the palace; we knew where we would find the study room where Chulainn usually wrote his letters and kept his correspondence. Before we would arrive at the festivity, Iorveth’s warriors were to infiltrate the palace garden and place our weapons and necessary belongings at a certain spot which was not guarded constantly. It was a very good chance that we wouldn’t need them, but it would not hurt if they were within reach.

_Elves sneaking into an elven palace. The world is turning upside down, indeed._

My task was to find the study room and get the correspondence; the others had to cover me.

When we had the letters, Triss was to open a teleport at the part of the garden where our weapons were hidden, leading back to the hillside. Then, we could return home to Vergen and confront Arondir with the evidences.

The plan was all set, simple as that; on the way to Eastern Aedirn, we joked and placed bets how would it go south.

If only I had known back then.

* * *

As night fell, Iorveth and Geralt returned to the camp. Apparently, Iorveth’s men ran into some nekkers, it was not a big fight, but some of them needed first aid; they were helping each other around the fire.

Geralt put down two fat rabbits and winked at me. I shrugged and started to skin the rabbits. He was kind enough to help with the stew, then set off into the forest once more, to search for herbs and potion components.

It was a quiet night, the air was crisp and windless.

Ciaran sat aside from his comrades, trying to stitch up a wound on his shoulder.

I sat down next to him.

‘Mind if I help?’

The hostility and malignity in his eyes was so striking that I had to back away.

‘Get your hands off me, bloede dh’oine.’ he snarled at me.

I stared at him, then swallowing back my angry words, I stood up to leave him.

Then suddenly, he started to laugh so hard he nearly fell off the branch.

‘Look at your face… look at your face!’ He was gasping so heavily, he had trouble breathing.

‘Careful.’ I said, not amused. ‘You might suffocate yourself.’

He continued to laugh, wiping his tears away from his eye.

‘I’m sorry, Ehedydd, it was just too good to pass up! Your face…’ he gasped, still laughing. ‘The others say I have an awful sense of humor, but admit it, this was great!’

‘You do have an awful sense of humor, Ciaran.’ said an elven woman dryly, passing by with a newly made bunch of arrows.

‘I love you too, Myriel!’ Ciaran cried after her, still chuckling, then looked up to me, giving me his boyish smile. ‘ _Squass’me_ , Ehedydd. If you are not too angry, I could use some help. My neck was just stucking into a cramp.’

I rolled my eyes while I sat back next to him.

‘You remind me of someone, you know.’ he said, examining my face.

‘Can’t imagine who, a nekker maybe?’ I asked stiffly.

He laughed, then shook his head. ‘No, actually… she is an old friend of mine. Haven’t seen her in a while. Her name is Toruviel.’

‘Toruviel?’ The name rang a bell. ‘I know her. She was in Vizima during the uprising.’

‘I know.’ Ciaran said, with a friendly gleam in his eyes. ‘She told me about you.’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly I started to take extra care of his wound. I felt his curious gaze on my face.

‘You could have told us, you know. From the start, in Flotsam.’ he said quietly and the gentle expression on his face was even more striking after that hateful look, even if he did that only for a joke. ‘That you are the one behind that smuggling group which helps the Scoia’tael.’

I bit on my lip, confused.

Ciaran was openly friendly to me since he recovered, partly thanks to one of the medicines I sent to Vergen during the siege, but I didn’t know how much he knew about my other trading businesses, especially after his commander investigated after me. For example, about the partnership I had with Vernon Roche. I was always strictly careful about how much did we reveal to such dangerous partners about our operations, what do we even trade with them; we made sure they never know about each other. Still, I didn’t turn my back to any of them. Until I heard of what would come to life in the Pontar Valley, it was not a matter of faith for me, only business; and this attitude saved my life a couple of times.

‘If I’d trusted everyone at first sight, I’d be long decomposed at the bottom of a canal.’ I told Ciaran slowly. ‘Yaevinn made sure that I proceed to you with caution. I was always a dh’oine for him.’

‘But not for Toruviel. She always tries to make and find peace wherever she can.’ Ciaran said.

‘Pity she didn’t end up in your unit.’ I said. ‘She would love Vergen.’

‘I tried to call her to us, but she pledged her loyalty to Yaevinn.’ Ciaran answered, his eyes darkened. ‘I hope she will be a good influence on him.’

‘You were not all that thrilled with the dh’oine a few months ago either.’ I reminded him.

He frowned.

‘I didn’t get attached to them at all, Dana Méadbh knows.’ he said. ‘But Vergen is finally our chance for freedom. Peace is our only chance for a future. If that means I’ll have some dh’oine neighbours, so be it.’

‘Careful!’ I took over the needle from him. ‘The dh’oine is here for you and is ready to devour you in all her evil machinations!’

‘Mmm, you tease.’ he winked at me. ‘But try something else, I don’t fall for that. You are no dh’oine.’

I turned his torso to the fire, to examine the wound.

‘Am I not?’ I asked, then reached for the cloth he has beside him in a small bowl. The wound needed some more cleaning. ‘How do you exactly use this phrase? Doesn’t dh’oine mean human in Elder Speech?’

‘It did, in fact it still does. Oh, _gwreigdda_ , are you this angry at me?’ He hissed as I washed the wound. ‘But it also indicates the selfish, greedy, stupid, unscrupulous behavior that is the lot of most humans. But you, the witcher and the sorceress are not like that. You are no dh’oine.’

‘Then I suppose you have to integrate the phrase ‘simple human, who could be elf and could be worse’ into your vocabulary.’ I stated, while I took the needle in my hand, tweaking his wound edges together. I briefly thought I would mention something about the lack of word for the usual self-righteous, conceited elven behavior, but I decided to leave it be. It didn’t seem to be very appealing to die resembling a hedgehog, ridden with arrows.

Ciaran chuckled again, with a little squealing, as I started to stitch the wound. His gaze softened a little.

‘We had a word for that once.’ he said thoughtfully. ‘We are not blinded by hate. Not all humans were and are dh’oine, we know that. Long ago, there were some who earned our respect.’ He looked at me with a mischievous smile again.’ We called them… _celc_.’

Some of the elves laughed out, some of them, Myriel amongst, placed their palms across their faces. Unfortunately for Ciaran, I knew this particular word.

‘You called them “kitty”?’ I asked dryly. ‘I’m sure they were so honored.’

This time, the elves burst out in a sincere laughter, and Ciaran looked at me with twisted lips.

‘You’re no fun.’

I kicked his ankle a bit and he chuckled.

‘So what was that word?’ I asked then. ‘If you didn’t set this up only for this tremendous joke.’

 _‘Cyfaill_. Friend.’ came a gritty voice from the shadows. I recognized Iorveth. He leaned to a tree, his arms crossed in front of his body. The right side of his face sunk into the darkness of the forest, I only saw a strange gleam where his eye was supposed to be. In the dim light, the scar running down to his lip was even more striking.

‘For our brethren, the word we use is _cydwedd_. _Cyfaill_ was the one particularly used for humans.’ he explained, then turned his face to the fire and now I saw his almond-shaped green eye. For a moment, there was a malicious gleam in that eye, like he would have been about to say something mocking, but then, a tired expression took over. He looked into the fire. ‘A very long time ago.’

Ciaran nodded, then turned to me, smiling.

‘ _Cyfaill_ , Ehedydd. That is what you are.’

I lowered my head to hide my embarrassment.

‘Stop it, you flatterer.’ I told him. ‘You’re making me blush.’

‘I enjoy the sight of ladies who have roses blooming on their face… Ouch!’ he cried out as I stitched the needle into him a little bit stronger than it was necessary.

‘And I love the sight of men whimpering under my hand.’ I grinned, patted on his good shoulder then turned back to the wound.

‘You are cruel to me, _gwreigdda._ ’ he smirked.

‘Me, cruel?’ I winked at him. ‘Just wait until you have those neighbours, my friend.’

He laughed out loud.

‘I wish we were already there...’ he said then, pensively. ‘How I wish to have a neighbour at all. Have a house... look at the sky without fear every night... have freshly baked buns each morning… Dance by the fire at Belleteyn…’

I watched his dreamy face with delight.

‘I remember Belleteyn from my childhood.’ I said, thinking. ‘We called it the Night of May, if I recall well. The firelight, the dancing… I was always so envious of my dad, he could drink wine, why couldn’t I?’

‘Where did you grow up?’ Iorveth asked suddenly. I looked up at him. There was no suspicion in his eyes, only curiosity; still I felt shiver running down my spine.

_I wasn’t cautious._

‘Near to Gulet, close the the borders of Dol Blathanna.’ I answered swiftly and before he could ask more questions, I continued. ‘The fiddlers played a fast, ever quickening melody, and I remember smiles and laughter…’

_And then, the darkness._

Ciaran chuckled at me. He motioned to another elf, sitting next to the fire. He understood the gesture, as he instantly pulled out a flute from his belt.

Ciaran jumped from the tree trunk, and reached for my hand with a little bow.

‘To future Belleteyns, Ehedydd.’ he smiled at me.

I accepted his hand, laughing.

‘I’ll take care of your shoulder instead of you.’ I told him, before he turned me in a spin and we started to jig around the fire in swift steps to the flute melody.

It really did recall joyful memories from the Night of May celebrations.

_Those Belleteyns._

I tried to catch Iorveth’s gaze, but he was not there by the tree anymore. Luckily, there was no sorrow next to the grey-eyed young elf.

As we finished our short reel, Ciaran bowed to me and smiled. The elves around us clapped, and Ciaran held me close and I jumped in his neck, laughing; his kind gesture brought back memories from a far away time, when I knew no harm yet.

A young warrior emerged from a tree trunk.

'It's my turn!' she cried out, smiling.

'Come on, Amira!' Ciaran laughed at her and accepted her hand with pleasure. The flutist began a new melody, and the other Scoia’tael, who were not on watch, joined the improvised Belleteyn.

I watched them, my heart being happy for their amusement, wishing they could be always this cheerful and free.

But my gaze repeatedly turned to the tree where the commander stood some minutes ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squass'me - forgive me (Elder speech - Witcher)  
> Gwreigdda - lady (Welsh)  
> Cyfaill and cydwedd both mean 'friend' in Welsh; I took a bit of artistic liberty in their interpretations.
> 
> The dancing music would be: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ywp5LnFw1A>


	17. In the glade a light was seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've stitched up the beginning chapters, to make the story a bit more consistent.
> 
> And now... let's see what Iorveth has in mind!

_Her features were like of a stone relief of an elven princess; beautiful and cold._

_Iorveth always saw her mother as the embodiment of a dark storm; her ebony black hair, light olive skin and dark blue eyes reminded him of a blizzard which seldom let a glimpse through the clouds on the sunny sky._

_Especially when she was angry._

_And she was very angry when she knew about his participation in the Vrihedd brigade._

_‘I’ve already seen the fall of our people, son.’ she said quietly, her voice icy, like winter nights. ‘I’ve seen how that stupid bitch marched with our children to their annihilation. And do you want me to watch how you do the same? How you march into your death and to the death of our race?’_

_He stood and faced her, whom he always admired, as one could admire a statue in a shrine._

_‘Aelirenn was a fool, mother.’ he said. ‘But we are soldiers, we know what we are doing. We are not some hot-headed teenager gang who only seek adventure! We want to save our people! The dh’oine will purge us if we don’t fight them!’_

_‘And tell me, who promised you the Valley of the Flowers, should you succeed?’ she said, and suddenly she seemed weary, like a withered leaf, yet despise was in her voice. ‘You hate the dh’oine, you fight them, and yet, you would live on a land they bestow upon you as alms. You want to go to war, and you don’t even know who your enemy is.’_

_‘I know that no one will grant us our freedom, mother. We must win it for ourselves.’ he said, controlling his own anger._

_‘You have no idea what freedom is, child.’_

_‘Don’t I, mother?’ he asked bitterly. ‘Freedom is peace. No need to fear, walking in safety, living proudly!’_

_‘You crave for something you don’t understand.’ she said. ’Nature knows no such words, it does not care for earthly ideas. The only law to be followed is change. All Aen Seidhe should know that. All elven children should know that before they walk to their destruction.’_

_‘I’d rather be dead than enslaved.’ Iorveth snarled. ‘I’ve seen enough of us surrendering to laws which are not ours.’_

_Her eyes became distant and glacial._

_‘You have long forgotten who we are if you call our ways surrender.’ She turned away from him. ‘I will not hear more of this.’_

_Iorveth stepped forward, his green eyes glared._

_‘Mother, you must listen to me!’ he shouted, but the woman lifted up her hand, stopping him._

_‘Get out.’ she said and her voice echoed. ‘You are no son of mine.’_

_Iorveth never met her again. She perished when the dh’oine steward fled Dol Blathanna. In a way, he was relieved; she never had to see what became of him._

_Yet he could never tell her how, in a way, her words proved to be right._

* * *

A crack of branch brought him back to the leaf-covered, rocky mountainside. A slender figure moved in the dark, then stepped out to the glade, her body was framed by shimmering starlight. The smuggler, no doubt. Aen Seidhe would never move so carelessly under such a bright night. Anything could see them from the darkness of the forest; anything could take them as a prey.

Iorveth recalled a poem which he heard many years ago in a tavern. _And all that's best of dark and bright, meets in her aspect and her eyes._ Or something like that. The bard who sang it was so drunk he could barely stand up straight. Yet he must have had a very vivid fantasy, because Iorveth could hardly imagine that any human woman would have let him close. Especially such women as the smuggler.

_And now why am I thinking of brainless dh'oine poems?_

She didn’t notice where he sat, and slowly walked past him. Had he not drawn the attention on himself, she would have never seen him.

_Some months ago, I would have simply had her shot._

‘Looking for something?’ he asked aloud.

She turned to him, but didn’t seem frightened by his voice. She was eyeing him earnestly.

‘Don’t they know?’ she asked back, motioning her head to the direction of the pale firelight, deep in the woods. The faint melody of the tune was still hearable.

Iorveth knew what she meant. It’s true, she gave a helping hand to the Scoia’tael in the past few years; yet helped that bastard Vernon Roche as well, without hesitation. He remembered the prison barge; had he killed her there, this question would have met a quick end. What did she say there?

 _I am a traitor to no one_.

And she never betrayed them, indeed. Iorveth found out a lot about her trades in the last weeks. She was right; she knew a lot of things about them which would have meant tragic consequences for the Scoia’tael, had they fallen into the wrong hands.

How much did she know about Vernon Roche was another question.

_Geralt was right, she should be a witcher. She does this whole neutrality thing a lot cleverer than Gwynbleidd, that’s for sure._

And now, here she was, seemingly fully committed to helping them. What she didn’t do for the Scoia’tael, she did for the free Pontar Valley. After seeing her coterie in Vengerberg, Iorveth had to admit, she was certainly a great help for nonhumans.

_The smuggler supports them even when I would have long abandoned them to their fate._

No wonder his subordinates watched her with admiration after her rescue action in Flotsam; and they fully accepted her when her supplies during the siege saved the lives of many of their comrades, including the severely wounded Ciaran’s. Iorveth couldn’t deny that this meant a lot for him as well. Ciaran was like a brother to him; and he buried far too many brothers and sisters during his fight with the dh’oine.

And now, a human saves his kin and helps him to get what he fights for; even if incidentally, next to her reasons.

_But what are her reasons?_

_Ciaran’s right, she’s no dh’oine._

_But is she... cyfaill?_

The word creaked like a rusty hinge, even in his thoughts.

Still not entirely trusting her, he searched for the well-known signs of lies and treachery. The tense shoulders. The lack of eye contact. The defensive body language.

Yet she stood straight but calm, her arms loosely next to her body, glistening in the pale light; and as she watched him curiously, with lips slightly open, the stars mirrored in her eyes.

Iorveth felt his heart skipping a beat.

He shook his head to catch himself and looked to the woods.

‘Let them have their tales.’ he said.

The smuggler looked at him pensively.

‘And?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t you afraid any more that my tale could mean a bitter ending for them?’

The commander closed his eyes.

‘They are accustomed to bitter endings.’ he said. ‘They will endure.’

Her face clouded.

‘You had the chance to kill me, more than once.’ Her voice was resigned and sad. ‘You could have spared them another disillusion.’

Iorveth didn’t understand.

‘But I didn’t kill you.’ he opposed. ‘As you could have many opportunities to betray the Scoia’tael. If you had done so, we would have suffered a serious blow, if not defeated forever. You could have your so desired peace. And yet, you never did. Why?’

She looked up to him and now Iorveth noticed the strange glimmer in her eyes, but suddenly, a small smile flickered through her lips.

‘You could have killed Vernon when you had the chance, and you let him live. You made an abacus for the children in Vengerberg, though not a long time ago, you considered nonhumans living in cities more dh’oine than humans themselves.’ she said, and tilted her head. ‘It seems we both have our secrets, Woodland Fox.’

Iorveth couldn’t restrain a smile. _She made me step into my own trap, the vixen_.

Her words made him think, though.

How did Saskia say? " _You must earn respect for yourself, and maybe in a few generations, humans will forget."_

_Yet given how many times am I reminded of that single damned abacus, it may only take a year or two._

‘Is your father dead?’ he asked suddenly.

It was a habit from questioning spies and captured enemy soldiers during his many years of military service, and even more years of hiding in the woods. Unexpected questions tended to confuse people and they easily told such things which otherwise would have remained hidden.

Astonishingly, he felt a sting of remorse when he saw the smuggler shudder and the pain on her face. He waited, giving her time to gather her thoughts. Something he would have never allowed at an interrogation.

 _Minus fifty years hiding in the forest_.

‘No.’ she answered finally. ‘He is alive.’

Iorveth was sincerely surprised.

‘And do you have other family as well? Your mother?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, closing her eyes. ‘My mother died when I was born. My grandmother is still alive, however.’

‘You know that for sure?’ he asked.

She nodded, biting her lip, swallowing a cough.

‘I ask about them regularly.’

Her voice was calm yet Iorveth felt the grief in it.

‘Why are you not with them?’ he asked.

She looked up on the sky. The storm in her mind was so clear as the night and suddenly Iorveth felt her struggle: how much she could tell him.

 _Of course._ She had no more reasons to trust him than he had to trust her.

‘I cannot be with them.’ she whispered finally.

The commander watched her with suspicion.

‘Why?’ he asked.

She stood with her head lowered, her hair fell on her shoulder and arms like a dark shadow. ‘If I would go… I would bring mortal danger to them.’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘When Letho saved me, I had to leave everything behind. I haven’t seen them ever since… and I never will. It was made sure that they thought me dead.’

Iorveth looked her disbelievingly.

‘And please… don’t ask me why. It is a matter of the past.’ Ildico interrupted him before he could say anything. ‘It must stay there. They must... stay safe.’

The commander shook his head.

‘Are you telling me that in order to keep them safe, you have been watching them only from the shadows ever since, knowing perfectly well that they think you are dead?’

Ildico slowly nodded. The tears she tried to hold back finally ran down on her cheek, sparkling as stardust.

Iorveth watched her in trance.

_I’m sure I would find stories about such sacrifices in our legends. But not many._

_What if this is a comedy as well?_

_But how could this be a comedy?_

She turned away a bit, covering her face with her hand. Iorveth watched her, with an unfamiliar feeling of pain in his chest. The tiny teardrops on her face reminded him of Cáelmewedd, the roses of remembrance at the lovers’ statue, covered with morning dew. He wondered for a while if he should reach out and hold her hand, to see the roses of remembrance on her face, but he didn't move. He didn’t disturb her grief.

After a few minutes, the sound of her sobbing faded. She straightened up, wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, coughing a little.

‘ _Squass’me_.’ she murmured.

‘Why are you asking for forgiveness?’ Iorveth asked. ‘For us, elves, tears are sacred and mourning is holy. The time of Saovine, the time when we mourn is coming… and you have loved ones to weep for.’

She stepped closer. Her eyes, hollow from crying, seemed even bigger now.

‘You will weep for a lot.’ she said.

Iorveth suddenly felt anger rising in his heart.

What was she even thinking? How dared she ask such a thing? He will weep for his family. He will weep for his cousins, friends, comrades who died in the everlasting, hopeless fight. He will weep for his people who will disappear from this world sooner or later, much as thanks to the dh’oine as their own recklessness and imprudence. He will weep for all and forever, without tears, because his tears dried up long ago.

Yet he said nothing of these. He gazed at the mountains which could have been his home once.

‘I will.’ he said, quietly, closing his eye.

As he felt her touch on his shoulder, he shivered and he stopped his hand halfway not to grasp her wrist, as his old instincts would have urged him. He looked up at her, inquiringly. Ildico slowly motioned towards the woods with her head.

‘The time of love will come as well.’ she said in a soft voice.

Iorveth glanced at the trees, the dancing, pale firelight on the leaves. The tune of the flute was still audible.

_The time of love._

_Belleteyn._

He closed his eye.

_How many are missing from around the fire. And yet... so many are still here._

He slowly slid his fingers on Ildico’s hand on his shoulder, and gently squeezed it. He looked into her eyes again, and saw her figure against the lights of the night, felt the warmth radiating from her body, the compassion in her amber eyes.

_How can the eyes of a human girl hold all the stars in the sky?_

Iorveth raised his hand and gently caressed her face. She trembled under the touch of his fingers, and bit her lip, leaving it gleaming wet.

_I’m losing my mind._

Iorveth gasped. He sprang up and turned from her, taking his hand away from hers. He closed his eye, his heart was about to burst. He breathed heavily and covered his face with his hand, remembering the words of a long dead woman.

_The only law to be followed is change._

_She is a human!_

_But..._

_No, I..._

In a few moments, he forced himself to calm down.

The black mass of the mountains of Dol Blathanna emerged in the distance like a sleeping monster. On the trees in front of him, the shadow of the distant fire played.

_Are you watching, mother? Are you watching?_

Iorveth, feeling his breath slowing down, turned back to Ildico. She still stood there, confusion and concern on her face, her hair gently shimmered with a wreath of stars.

Iorveth walked back to the rock and sat down again. At the same time, he pulled his flute out of his belt and twirled it in his hand.

‘ _Squass’me_ , I’m not taking you to dance now.’ he said with gentle sarcasm. ‘We, Aen Seidhe always have the first dance with our spouses and my meddlesome lieutenant has already taken that.’

She hid a cough behind her hand, but then smiled at him.

‘You are not my husband.’

His smile was nearly unvisible as he leaned against the rock, looking at his flute.

‘I’ll be back in the camp soon... Skylark.’ he said.

Then he raised the flute to his mouth and began a melody, an old, old song about mist-covered mountains.

Ildico understood his unspoken wish. She slowly turned away to start back to the camp, but the tune of her soft humming accompanied the sound of the flute.

Iorveth looked after her until her figure disappeared in the forest.

_Dana Méadbh, have mercy on me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'She walks in beauty' is a poem by Lord Byron (the drunk dh'oine bard :P ).
> 
> Fellow Tolkien-fans might have noticed: this chapter is very heavily inspired by the Song of Beren and Lúthien (<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMfF5fjC-LY>).
> 
> Iorveth's flute song would be a beautiful song in Gaelic language, Ch Mi Na Morbheanna (Mist-covered mountains): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZlQW4O4NpI>
> 
> ***  
> Yay, I'm sorry if you were expecting more, but they are not quite there yet... we'll see what the future brings.


	18. No way back

Apart from being in a potentially life-threatening situation, Triss had a great time.

She felt like a princess from a fairy tale when they rode down on the road which led to the Cysgodol Palace.

_A very twisted fairy tale._

They stopped at the mountainside for a while; looking over where they were heading.

Triss caught her breath. She never saw an elven palace before.

It was like a cloud made of silver filigree, hiding in the ancient pine woods. Its architecture was so light like it would have floated above the canopy, like the moon itself would have spread its light down to the globe. The lake surrounding the palace reflected its marvellous, unearthly beauty and the lights on its towers and walls, leading the way to the guests arriving to the Velen equinox soiree.

Triss felt tears welling up in her eyes.

‘How stunning.’ she whispered.

‘It is.’ Ildico agreed, her voice trembled a little, holding back her horse. ‘And how many of such beauties were destroyed.’

Iorveth turned back in the saddle and looked directly at Ildico. His dark hair fell down to his jawline. He wore an eyepatch, but Triss’s magic hid the scar on his cheek perfectly.

* * *

_Iorveth sat down in front of her, resignation in his features._

_‘Bring it on, Triss.’_

_The sorceress nodded. She gently removed his bandana to reveal the right side of his face. Without the kerchief, his eyebrows became visible; his face looked sorrowful and somewhat more placid than usual. His shaggy black hair was cut unevenly. His sunken face and hollow, empty eye socket was in a compelling contrast with his vivid, leaf-green left eye, shadowed with long eyelashes._

_Triss never even noticed how beautiful was his eye._

_She applied a small amount of the tincture she prepared, spread it on the elf’s healthy eyelid and whispered an incantation. When Iorveth opened his eye, the emerald green was turned into a deep blue._

_Triss nodded contendedly._

_‘Now, let’s see your scars.’ she said. She looked around and saw Geralt, sitting on a branch, sorting his evening clothes with a sour face. Triss sneered. She opened her mouth to call the witcher for help, but she changed her mind quickly._

_‘Ildico!’ she said loudly, not taking her eyes away from Iorveth’s face. The elf flinched and raised his eyebrow inquiringly._

_The smuggler came up to them, and looked at Iorveth. The elf looked back at her, with wild defiance in his remaining eye._

_Ildico froze for a moment as she stared at him. Triss knew that she never saw Iorveth without his bandana, but she also knew that her friend had also had her share of disfiguring scars._

_Indeed, Ildico soon turned to Triss, without commenting on Iorveth’s face._

_‘Yes, Triss?’ she asked._

_The sorceress raised a stick, wrapped into a piece of white cloth._

_‘I need your help.’ she said as she gave the stick to the smuggler. Ildico examined it with a grimace on her face, then looked at Triss with a raised eyebrow._

_‘A gag?’ she asked. ‘And where’s the whip?’_

_The sorceress rolled her eyes._

_‘The concealing spell I am going to use on his wound is extremely painful.’ she explained. ‘I need you to have him bite on it and hold his head while I perform the spell.’_

_The glint in the smuggler’s eye betrayed her confusion, but she soon regained control over her features. She stepped to the elf who looked at her with mild reluctance, then he slowly nodded, without a remark. Ildico stepped to him, Iorveth opened his mouth, she slid the gag between his teeth and he bit on it._

_‘Are you ready?’ Triss asked and Iorveth nodded._

_Triss beckoned to Ildico, who stepped right next to the elf. She gently put her left hand on his forehead and the right under his chin, then tightened her grip._

_Triss began the spell._

_Iorveth twisted and gasped in pain, the tendons tightened in his neck as the blue light emanating from Triss’s fingers slid up on his face. He grasped Ildico’s arm, veins bulged on the back of his hand as he clinged to the smuggler. A painful grimace appeared on Ildico’s face but she didn’t make a sound._

_It was over within a minute. Iorveth’s posture relaxed, he spat out the gag, relieved. He let go of Ildico’s arm and touched his face disbelievingly._

_‘The part of your scar that ran down to your lip is hidden now.’ said Triss._

_‘Won’t you charm the other eye back for him, Triss?’ Geralt asked. ‘Two eyes would never make people think of Iorveth.’_

_‘You are a world-class asshole, Gwynbleidd.’ the elf said sourly. ‘Anyway, it’s no use here. The people I met in Dol Blathanna usually remember me with both of my eyes. Triss’s magic should be enough.’_

_The sorceress nodded._

_‘Remember, my magic lasts for a day… or if we meet a strong dispel, which is highly unlikely, it would be a very rude gesture towards the guests.’_

_‘Then, I guess, you can keep your glass slippers on after midnight as well.’ Geralt remarked and threw a cloth sack to Iorveth._

_‘The pumpkin carriage can wait!’ the elf replied, then looked up at Ildico, who quickly cast down her eyes and turned away, hiding her laughter._

_Triss smiled under her nose, then touched her friend’s shoulder._

_‘Come on, let’s get dressed.’ She raised their cloth sacks then turned to Geralt and Iorveth. ‘While we are getting ready, can you please do something to your hairs?’_

_Geralt looked back at her._

_‘What do you want? Some braids?’_

_‘Ribbons?’ Iorveth backed him._

_‘Curling?’_

_‘Ruffles?’_

_Ildico scoffed._

_‘A wash would make a good start, as a matter of fact.’ she said dryly, then turned away and they set out with Triss to a nearby glade._

* * *

The elf muttered calming words to his horse, then looked at the smuggler again.

‘How this palace is still intact? When I was in the neighbourhood last time, my kinsmen were about to demolish it.’ he said, not letting her eyes go.

Ildico threw her black shawl over her shoulder.

‘Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen lobbied for its persistence during the treaties of the peace of Cintra.’ she said, with a bitter smile. ‘He insisted that it would do well for the future kingdom of Dol Blathanna to have some remaining fortification on its borders.’

Iorveth scoffed.

‘So Nilfgaard again used our assets to its own purposes. They could have at least asked a soldier!’ he exclaimed. ‘A fortification? This weekend house?’

Triss hardly could hide her surprise. ‘Weekend house’ was not an obvious category, evidently… another aspect of how much the elves have lost during the past centuries.

Two figures appeared amongst the trees. Triss shivered; the Scoia’tael scouts didn’t make a single sound up until then.

_It’s nice to have them on our side. They would cut us off in a blink of an eye otherwise._

Myriel pulled down the shawl from her face.

‘Your things are at their place, commander.’ she reported to Iorveth. The elf nodded.

‘Have you seen anything interesting?’ he asked.

She grinned.

‘Guards as usual, no sign of strengthened protection.’ she said. ‘Oh, and I’d be grateful if you could save me one of the frilly little raspberry cakes.’

A small smile appeared on Iorveth’s face.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ he said.

‘Come on.’ Ildico said as she motioned her horse forward. ‘Let’s drink all their wine before we rob them.’

‘Finally, a good idea.’ Iorveth muttered and followed her. Geralt and Triss looked at each other.

‘Let’s give them some advantage on the road.’ she whispered to Geralt and the witcher nodded.

* * *

_While the women got dressed, the sound of laughter echoed from the camp; Iorveth and Geralt got prepared as well, and men as they were, they wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to entertain themselves over the latest Aedirnian fashion. The remarks were not audible clearly, but from time to time, they heard their voice or one of the Scoia’tael elves, having a great time over the vestments._

_‘And I didn’t even include a single ruffled vest from Toussaint.’ Triss said as she adjusted her tunic and started to buckle her gold-studded red leather belt. She coloured her hair to a dusky, golden brown, her turquoise eyes were turned to blue as forget-me-nots._

_‘Pity, I would imagine how that would look on the commander.’ Myriel, the Scoia’tael warrior chuckled as she combed Ildico’s hair into a hairstyle which was common amongst elves; they thought it would be suitable for a party held by an elven host. The smuggler’s hair got a bluish hue, and Triss accentuated the golden colour in her brown eyes, so her sight was closer to a cat-like yellow now. As Triss coloured Geralt’s eye to a deeper shade of green, it seemed like the smuggler would have taken over the bright nuance of the witcher’s eyes._

_‘All right.’ the elven woman said. ‘I am ready.’_

_Ildico stood up and they examined each other. They wore knee-long silk tunics, slashed at their legs, fine leather trousers underneath and tall boots; Triss’s garments were deep green with golden embroidery, while Ildico was dressed in dark purple, her clothings adorned with silver. The tunics were not low-cut, but the way how the fabric covered their bodies was just enough to catch the eye._

_Myriel sighed._

_‘If you fail with your men, can I have you both?’ she chuckled. They laughed at her, then nodded to each other._

_‘All right, let’s go.’ Ildico giggled._

_‘Oh, I have to see this.’ Myriel commented and followed them._

_Triss was accustomed to the impact that a well-executed appearance could have on men, especially if it was emphasized with some cleverly applied cosmetic spells. As they stepped out to the camp, she noticed with satisfaction that the old recipe worked again._

_The laughter was cut, the men stared at them with eyes wide. Even Geralt was astonished and he has seen some sorceresses using the same tools to enhance their appearances. Triss couldn’t help but wonder: had her outfit amazed him this much if a certain sorceress would have been here as well?_

_No. She was sure it wouldn’t._

_Suddenly she wished that Geralt looked at him as Iorveth was looking at Ildico._

_Triss remembered the elf’s cruel posture and knife-sharp glance when they first met him in Flotsam. Though he was obviously not without common sense, she thought him a ruthless renegade, an elf who had nothing to lose anymore, making him even more dangerous; someone who has left behind every bit of benevolence from his nature, making his choices based on cruel calculation._

_Triss soon started to realize that she was only partly right. Iorveth clearly had no liking for humans, yet he agreed to work together with Letho without hesitation. In the forest of Flotsam, he ordered his elves to attack them only after Roche threw a dagger at him - and he still spared the Temerian’s life after he defeated the special forces leader in duel. Even when he still thought Geralt an enemy, he listened to what the witcher had to say, and gave him his trust. Even the madame of the brothel sent him reports. And after Flotsam, Vergen and Saskia’s ideals clearly awakened something in Iorveth which seemed to be lost forever._

_And now, as he watched the approaching smuggler, the Scoia’tael commander was stunned. His face had his usual mask-like expression, but his eye radiated such bewilderment that softened his features._

_If  he hadn't been who he was, Triss would have described his face as innocent.  
_

_His lieutenant, Ciaran soon broke the spell._

_‘You know, Iorveth, if this is what you get for dressing up like a clown, sign me up for the next ball.’ he muttered._

* * *

The clapping of the hooves slowed down as they approached the gate. They dismounted and the servants led the horses away. Triss looked after them woefully, knowing they have to leave them behind.

They entered the arch-shadowed vestibule in silence.

There was no way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my dear subscribers: I'm sorry if I spammed you, I noticed today that I accidentally deleted a chapter, had to put it back...


	19. Cheese, wine and politics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for your lovely feedbacks, guys! You literally give me wings and a lot of help, you have many insights which assist me to form this story! :)
> 
> The next update may come a little slower, around the 5th of December, as I have some schoolwork to complete (final semester, yay). As a consolation, this chapter is slightly longer than usual and gives a lot of infos to think about. Take care!

Ildico sneezed.

‘Bless you, m’lady.’ A middle-aged human man bowed to her as he walked past them. Ildi nodded to him, gracefully putting her hand in front of her nose.

‘You know, honey, had you told me, it would have taken a few minutes to brew you a potion… or a simple chamomile tea.’ Triss murmured to the smuggler, but Ildi waved her hand.

‘Nothing to mention, it’s only a little cold… oh, cheese!’ She cried out and took away a small piece of cheese from a plate a servant held as they walked through the promenade in the garden.

‘How can you think of eating right now?’ Triss asked her, laughing, as she slipped her arm through Geralt’s.

‘You should try it, it’s seasoned with thyme!’ the smuggler answered, chewing the cheese with pleasure.

‘Not at all conspicuous, Ildico, not at all.’ Iorveth said dryly, looking around. There were some guests standing around them, mainly elves, but there were some humans as well. They gave Iorveth and Ildico suspicious glances, but no one really payed attention to them; at least, no more than other mixed-race couples. Triss was surprised to actually see a few of them. Saeros and Miklos were indeed right.

_Are we going back in time?_

Ildi smiled at him cheekily.

‘You know what’s conspicuous? For the first time during our acquaintance, you called me by my name.’

‘Now you can seal your vows with some cheese.’ Geralt said.

Ildico turned to him, she twisted her lips.

‘I was having a moment with my husband, and now you ruined it.’

‘Enough prattle, woman. Let’s go.’ Iorveth took the smuggler’s arm, looking cautiously at a couple standing nearby, but his steps were confident, as if he was accustomed to such gatherings.

Triss looked at the elf curiously.

‘You seem to know your way around.’

‘I am too well-mannered for a woodland terrorist, you mean?’ Iorveth asked acidulously.

Triss felt her cheeks redden.

‘No, I… all right, not the way I’d put it, but yes.’ she surrendered. ‘But how do you do it?’

‘I haven’t always lived in the woods, you know.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Triss figured it out quickly. ‘You were an officer in the Nilfgaardian army.’

‘But how does that relate to your courtly manners?’ asked Geralt.

_Bright as ever._

‘What dh’oine officers do when they are on leave?’ Iorveth asked back. ‘Well, elven officers do the same. We went to parties, drank all the booze, had all the women and such.’

Ildico glanced at the elf with a slightly raised eyebrow.

‘What a pile of pleasures.’ she remarked sardonically.

‘Mm. Makes me regret for a moment that I haven’t joined the army.’ Geralt said. Triss frowned at him.

‘Especially the ‘women’ part, eh?’ she asked.

Geralt blushed and shrugged a little, grinning. Triss playfully smashed his shoulder.

‘I had a business partner some years ago.’ Ildico said, her face softened by the memory. ‘An elven assassin. He was an amusing fellow, from somewhere very far, a continent in the West, beyond the sea. Had a nice tattoo on his face… He said something I haven’t forgotten ever since. “I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often.”

‘Hm, wise words.’ Geralt nodded.

Iorveth, on the other hand, seemed annoyed.

‘And? Did he _take_ those _pleasures_?” he asked scornfully.

Ildico grinned widely and didn’t answer, but the elf did not leave it at that.

‘What did you even ‘business’ on?’ he asked irately, stressing the words meaningfully.

Ildi looked at him with an understanding smile.

‘I’m sorry, but as you may have already noticed, I don’t divulge confidential information about my clients.’

Iorveth made a disgruntled sound. Triss took her hand in front of her mouth to hide her laughter.

They walked slowly, estimating the environment. The palace looked even more compelling when they stood in front of it; Triss really would have been curious what would Iorveth actually call a palace, if he thought the Cysgodol Palace was only a weekend house. The surrounding pine forests gave a beautiful frame to the gracious white towers and walls. The gate of the main entrance was open, light emanated from the interior of the building as the line of guests entered the main hall. The main facade opened into two wings; the gardens stretched out on the hillslope, with lush vegetation, fruit trees and rare flowers.

Ildico made a slight motion with her head; Triss instantly knew what she wanted to show. There was a darker trellis in the garden on their right side, which was not directly lighted by the garden lanterns.

 _That is our goal_.

Ildico smilingly nodded to a human man who greeted them courteously, leading his elven wife on his arm. She seemed joyful and replied to Ildi's nod with a knee bend, beaming.

‘It’s clear that I have been out from the mainstream for a while.’ Iorveth growled quietly, looking after the couple as they walked forward. ‘Since when mixed marriages have become so acceptable on the borders?’

‘Compared to how useful they can be, not long enough.’ Ildico replied in the same tone.

‘Tell me, just how useful they can be?’ Iorveth asked bitterly.

Ildico scoffed at him.

‘Your reputation as a cunning fox is only a joke, right?’ she said coldly. ‘Mixed marriages are the best that could happen to the Northern Realms. They help the coexistence of societies, trading, they smoothen the grudges between the races and open up new political possibilities. I don’t understand what is your problem, anyway. What you are now helping to create in Vergen will evidently lead to such unions.’

‘In fact, these marriages were quite common until just a mere thirty-forty years ago.’ Triss added. ‘They say you still hardly can find a human in the East who has no elven blood in them… and vice versa.’

‘Yep.’ Iorveth sneered with bitter mockery. ‘Then humans decided it was enough… the blood of the Aen Seidhe contaminates their oh, so noble bloodline.’

Ildico suddenly flickered and looked away, her arm loosening in Iorveth’s arm.

The elf glanced at her.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, but the smuggler just shook her head and did not reply. Iorveth looked at her curiously, but did not ask again.

Triss watched her friend’s saddened face with concern.

_He does not know, honey. Don’t fret._

They went up on the white marble stairs and arrived at the atrium. A footman - seemingly half-elf - greeted them.

‘Welcome to the palace, ladies and gentlemen. Our master will arrive within minutes, please, refresh yourselves until then.’

He immediately turned to another arriving group and did not give any attention to them any more.

Triss was amazed. The walls were decorated with filigree reliefs, intricate, wonderful paintings, picturesque scenes from an ancient, forgotten history.

 _It’s a sin that we let these treasures disappear_.

‘Is that a duck on a plough?’ Geralt asked as he studied one of the paintings. Triss sighed.

‘Have you never thought about a career in art history?’ she asked. ‘Oxenfurt would welcome you with arms wide open.’

‘Now what did I do?’ Geralt asked, puzzled.

Ildico chuckled as Triss shook her head and stopped a servant who carried a tray of glasses, full with wine.

‘Nothing. Let’s drink!’

She gave glasses to each of them and picked one up for herself as well, just to nearly drop it when an older human woman addressed them. She stopped in front of Triss and Ildi, bowing her head slightly.

‘A wise decision on the wine, ladies. Let’s enjoy life’s little treats while we can, who knows what will become of these lands by next year?’

Ildico gave her a courteous smile and raised her glass to the woman.

‘To you, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, lady.’ she nodded. ‘Am I to understand well, are you the associates of the Morquend & Ferenczy Bookkeeping and Accountancy, from Vengerberg?’

Ildi bowed her head.

‘That is our lot, ma’am. And whom have we the honor to address?’

The woman smiled at her, although her eyes remained indifferent. Her body was strongly built, yet she still was graceful, her grey hair combed into an elegant chignon. She wore a black dress, with golden embroidery around her waist and on her shoulders. Judging by her face, she could be around sixty.

‘Your might have heard my name from your employers already. My name is Katalin Bathory.’

‘Katalin Bathory?’ Ildico asked back. ‘You served as a colonel in Queen Meve's army during the second war with Nilfgaard. We are happy to assist you in your trading business.’

Triss knew that Ildi mentioned this information only for their sake, so that they would know who they were speaking to. She stepped forward.

‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’ she bowed her head to the woman.

‘It’s my pleasure.’ Katalin nodded, then slightly bowed herself towards Iorveth and Geralt. ’Gentlemen.’

Triss again had to restrain her giggle as Geralt and Iorveth performed the clumsiest bow of history to the old woman.

‘If I may be so bold as to inquire, what brings your ladyship to Dol Blathanna from Lyria?’ Geralt asked.

Katalin laughed and this time she seemed sincere.

‘Oh, aren’t you charming?’ she said and winked at the witcher; her gesture was much more mischievous than her age would have suggested. ‘I’m here for the cheese and the wine, of course.’

‘What a coincidence! Just like us.’ Iorveth replied dryly.

Katalin chuckled and looked attentively at the elf.

‘You are a soldier, aren’t you? You were in the Nilfgaardian army during the war.’ She didn’t ask; it was a declaration.

Triss felt her stomach harden.

_I haven’t even drunk my wine yet and are we in trouble already?_

Iorveth, however, was not confused.

‘As did nearly all the elves, ma’am.’ he nodded. ‘I fight for my people; this is my duty.’

The old woman glanced at Ildico for a moment.

‘The more I am surprised on your union, my lord.’ she stated.

Iorveth’s voice was resolute.

‘As I said, ma’am: I fight for _my people_.’

Katalin peered at him for a few moments, then she turned to Ildico.

‘I honestly can’t decide if you have made a huge mistake or if you are blessed with Melitele’s most ardent grace.’ she said, with a girlish cheekiness in her eyes.

With a sudden movement, Ildico slipped her arm through Iorveth’s.

‘Well, I guess if I stick around long enough, I will find out eventually.’ She looked up to Iorveth, who made a forced nod and tensely slid his hand on Ildico’s fingers.

Triss looked at them, smiling. _Wow, that was close to convincing._

Katalin nodded with appreciation.

‘Well then, I wish you happiness. My apologies if I have meddled in your private matters.’ she said. ‘In fact, I wanted to talk to you about a different topic. As your employers are an old acquaintance of mine, I hoped I would have the opportunity to ask your opinion about a… matter of delicate nature.’

Ildico nodded.

‘We are always at your assistance, ma’am.’

‘As you know, confidentiality is a crucial element in our field.’ Triss backed her friend quickly.

‘I knew I could count on your professionalism.’ Katalin sighed. ‘I guess I do not have to ask if you have followed the political events of our region lately. Nilfgaard has declared war again… Aedirn and Temeria have no king, Redania is ruled by a madman. The Northern Kingdoms are weaker than ever. The Scoia’tael are still active, some say that even the Iron Wolf was sighted in the region! Lyria is quite concerned about what may happen in the future. We defeated Nilfgaard once, but with such circumstances... we are not sure about what may come next.’

‘One thing can be assured, Isengrim Faoiltiarna has not entered the territory of the Northern Kingdom.’ Iorveth murmured, with obvious tenseness.

‘We perfectly understand your doubts, ma’am.’ Ildico nodded, looking at Iorveth warningly. The old woman raised a grey eyebrow at the elf, with a hardly perceptible smile on her face. The she took a deep breath and continued to speak to Ildico.

‘We need as many allies as we can gather. My queen heard about this… new state in the Pontar Valley. I’d like to hear your unbiased opinion… as traders and experts in economical relations. We are in doubt if we should… offer diplomatic relations to the Pontar Valley, as the origin of its sovereign is doubtful, to say the least.’

‘Why does it concern you, ma’am?’ Ildico asked and quickly grope Iorveth’s hand before the elf could say a word.

Katalin seemed puzzled.

‘Please, lady, you must understand me. A… dragon?’

Ildi tilted her head and smiled at the old woman.

‘Ma’am, as for her lineage, it might seem uncommon at first, but aren’t there more examples for such genealogy? I’m sure you remember the Lion Cub of Cintra. Elder blood runs in her veins and her father recovered from a curse that turned him into an urcheon. If it was not for the invasion of Nilfgaard, she would sit on the throne of Cintra!’

‘Princess Cirilla was, first and foremost, not a monster, lady.’ Katalin opposed.

‘No one could accuse Lady Saskia of being a monster, ma’am.’ Ildico explained, patience and benevolence on her face. ‘She was able to build a kingdom, she drove off the Kaedwenis and she would do everything to protect her people, even on the battlefield. As I am aware, this is not a foreign concept for your Lady Meve or for yourself, either.’

Katalin nodded, thoughtfully.

‘That’s true.’

‘Moreover, the Pontar Valley is able to offer help in many ways.’ Triss took over. ‘Raw materials, like stone, or craftsmanship, weapons… there are many good artificers from all races in the country, living and working together in peace. That attitude might help to strengthen Lyria and Rivia as well, ma’am… as I recall, the pogrom in Rivia didn’t happen a very long time ago.’

Katalin lowered her head and anger coloured her face red.

‘A most shameful event.’ she said in a low voice.

‘Hardly surprising that such a fine military force like that of the elves, joined Nilfgaard during the wars. Had they been given proper rights and protection, they would have been such an asset that would have challenged even the Emperor .’ Ildico continued. ‘Lady Saskia is about to make that real in her kingdom, and believe me, ma’am, this makes her in possession of a great power. Nations only prosper if they are safe.’

The old woman listened to her pensively, then slowly nodded.

‘Your words are worth for consideration, ladies.’ she said. ‘We were not sure what the effect of the Duchy of Dol Blathanna would have on the region, yet it proved to be fruitful, as this evening proves it as well… although our negotiations with the Duchess are heavily hindered by some in her court.’

Ildi tilted her head inquiringly, but at that moment, Katalin caught herself, like she had said more than she would have wanted to.

‘I will not bother you further.’ she said, now with a much kinder smile. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you. Give my regards to your employers, ladies. Gentlemen.’

With that, she walked away, not even waiting for their answer. They stood in silence for a while, looking after her.

‘Triss, if you are ever done with magical business, you are immediately hired.’ Ildico whispered.

The sorceress smiled.

‘Years spent as a royal advisor pay off.’ She looked after Katalin, who mingled with an elderly couple on the other side of the hall. ‘I wonder what she meant by those negotiations. If I understand well, Francesca herself might be open to their suggestions... unlike some in her court?’

‘There’s nothing complicated about it.’ Iorveth said. ‘If Francesca establishes diplomatic relationships with Queen Meve, the Emperor will be irritated, to say the least. There are more than enough... life forms in her court who would never risk Nilfgaard’s wrath, including that bastard who now assaults Vergen with his presence. ’

‘Pity. Imagine if an alliance would form between Lyria, Dol Blathanna and the Pontar Valley.’ Ildico said, pondering. ‘That would put even the Emperor’s army to test.’

‘Women repair what men caused to explode.’ Triss grinned.

Ildico chuckled. ‘Exactly.’

Iorveth rolled his eyes.

‘This is a brand new kind of segregation I’m experiencing here.’ he said.  

‘Don’t worry.’ Ildico smiled at him. ‘We are only here to offer you, poor boys, our help.’

‘How good for us.’ Iorveth replied, and as he looked at the smuggler, a sparkle of unwilling appreciation appeared in his eye. ‘Though I must admit, you two did well with this old hag.’

Ildico’s cheeks lightly reddened. Triss smiled at the elf, then glanced at Geralt, who didn’t say a word, just stood, thinking.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ the sorceress asked him.

Geralt looked at her, and a little grin appeared in the corner of his mouth.

‘Nothing, just…’

Triss immediately guessed.

 _The Lion Cub of Cintra_.

‘It’s Ciri.’

‘Yeah.’ Geralt said. ‘I haven’t met her since… Well, I haven’t met her in a while.’

‘Your surprise child?’ Iorveth asked, with unanticipated kindness in his voice.

Geralt nodded.

‘I’ll introduce you when I have the chance.’ he said, with a warm smile.

Triss felt her vision blurring again, but at that moment, a commotion started at the end of the hall.

A group of elves moved slowly down on the steps; with two of them leading the way. One was younger, a silver headpiece glimmered on his forehead, clamping on his short light brown hair. He frowned as he looked up to his companion, a much taller, long white-haired elf, who, by face, looked young as all elves do, but his eyes were dark and deep, a mirror of knowledge, centuries and memories.

Triss marveled at him in awe. _He must be very old._

‘The younger one is our host, Chulainn.’ Ildico whispered. ‘I don’t know the older one.’

Triss felt Geralt’s hand clasping on her waist.

‘But I do.’ he murmured.

‘Me too.’ Iorveth said, a nuance of anxiety in his voice. ‘Though I haven’t seen him in a few decades.’

The murmuring sound of the crowd stifled their voices. The elves walked through the hall slowly, bowing and greeting the other guests. The brown-haired one kept looking at the old elf; the tension between them was not clear, but it was definitely there. Triss was astonished; seldom did elves show their conflicts openly.

_What could have happened between them?_

At that moment, the two elves and their gathering stepped in front of them.

‘I welcome you to our festivities, my dear guests.’ Chulainn greeted them ceremoniously, his face a cold mask. ‘Your employers in Vengerberg recommended you to my attention. I hope you find our celebration to your satisfaction.’

‘My lord, we could not be more grateful for your generous invitation.’ Ildico replied, and bent her knee as a greeting.

The white-haired elf watched her, though his eyes did not tell anything about his thoughts. Suddenly, he looked at Iorveth.

‘Am I to understand well that this human lady is your wife, _fraere_?’ he asked. His voice was very deep, much deeper than his appearance would have suggested.

Iorveth bowed his head stiffly as he put his hand on Ildico’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

‘She is.’ he said shortly.

A smile appeared on the old elf’s face, which made Triss shiver.

‘Will you let her dance with me?’ he asked.

‘Your Excellency, this is not necessary…’ Chulainn tried to interrupt, but the white-haired elf silenced him with a motion of his hand.

Iorveth’s face became hard and he drew Ildico even closer. The smuggler looked puzzled.

‘I have not danced with her yet, _fraere_.’ Iorveth answered, refusal in his voice.

The old elf’s smile did not fade.

‘As a small favor.’ he insisted and a menacing light sparkled in his eyes. ‘I promise I will bring her back to you.’

The Scoia’tael commander looked back at him, and for a moment, Triss thought he would turn the old elf down. However, in a few moments, he unwillingly released Ildico.

‘As a small favor.’ he said rigidly.

The old elf bowed to him, then he lent his arm to the smuggler, who accepted it shyly.

As he led her to the dance floor, Triss looked at Iorveth and Geralt.

‘Are we in trouble?’ she whispered very quietly.

‘Depends.’ Geralt murmured. ‘We may get away if your friend is clever enough.’

Iorveth remained silent. His chest heaved heavily as he watched the old elf leading Ildico to the dance floor.

Music began to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fraere - brother (Elder Speech)


	20. On uncharted paths

I still felt Iorveth’s grasp on my shoulder as the elven lord led me away from him.

In fairy tales, the prominent elder of the story - although there are many more beautiful and important others he could choose from - always picks one of the least significant ones in the room, because that is how fairy tales work.

Somehow, they never tell about the flip of the stomach to which the poor insignificant one is subjected to, threatening to vomit all around the place. Of course, I gulped it back. It would not have made a very fine first impression. I did not know who the old elf was, but I sensed he was not a low-ranking person and beside my fear, I was curious what he wanted.

We stood in front of each other, in the starting position for the dance. As music began to play, he reached for my hand first, and I accepted his hand to begin the dance, returning his gaze.

‘So, tell me, lady: do you enjoy the exotic pleasures of your Aen Seidhe?’ he asked.

Well, that was a rather raw start.

‘You mean, have I already explored how many ways his auricles float my boat, Your Excellency?’ I asked back in my surprise, maybe a little bit more impudently than it should have been necessary.

He stared surprisedly, and looked at me with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

‘There must be other benefits to your mésalliance, I’m sure.’ he said then, his eyes becoming stern.

I made a turn to the rhythm of the music.

‘I have a distinct feeling that you are not an advocate supporter of mixed marriages, Your Excellency.’ I said.

‘Your clairvoyance does you credit, lady.’ he nodded to me as I faced him again.

I oppressed a sigh. I’ve met so many of his kind, humans, elves alike; they all told and sounded the same. Unfortunately, we were not at a tavern where I could simply turn the table on him and walk out.

‘May I ask why?’ I asked, trying to sound like a naive little wife, being ready to the usual blood contamination-diatribe I was so familiar with.

_I heard it so many times during my younger years, once already during this evening, another one could not hurt…_

His face darkened.

‘My folk have suffered much… and such unions, due to their nature, contribute to their suffering.’ he said.

I stared at him. _This is new._

‘How so, Your Excellency?’

He put his hand on my waist to lead me through a twirl.

‘Though we have lost much during the centuries, including many of our years, the life of an elf is still considerably longer lasting than that of a human.’ he said, quietly. Still, I heard him clearly next to the music. ‘Even if not taken by a sword or illness, the decay of time will carry away the human long, long before the elf sees the end of the days given. Thus, a marriage between an elf and a human necessarily means centuries of woe for the former, so again… the true benefit belongs to your kind.’

I mechanically repeated the twirl and bended my knee towards him to make another turn.

What he said was not unknown to me, yet I had no reason to think about it until now. Many of the young elves who worked for me ended up joining the Scoia’tael. They never grew old. A lot of them died a pitiful death in their fight, lacking proper medicines or simply starving to death.This was partly the reason why I helped the woodland Squirrels. I wanted to give them a chance.

Saeros was old even when he and Miklos took me in; he often joked about how I should treat his last will, gently preparing me for the time when they would pass to their ancestors and leave me alone. It always pained me to hear his silly cracks, and I hoped that day would come as late as it could. Yet still, it was something that was known to me; the way humans experience the passing of their elders.

No, this was a different wheel of time. A different, but familiar. Too familiar. What the elven lord talked about brought back memories; things I thought I’d left behind forever.

Then I thought of Iorveth and I had to strain myself back to my role. I was a young wife of an elven officer. I had to act like that.

‘Has it never occured to you, Your Excellency, that this very same fact could sadden the heart of the human as well? Knowing that only a little time is given.’ I said, gazing at the direction where my companions were standing. ‘Knowing that he has to live many of his days alone.’

‘If it pains you, if you know that it will pain him, why would you enter such a union?’ he asked, but surprisingly, his face was now curious rather than malevolent.

I lowered my head, the pain in my chest sharpened.

_Why, really?_

I remembered Iorveth’s face last night. As he sat on that rock against the starry night, looking into the future, leaving his past behind. The moment when I understood why his comrades would follow him even to hell itself.

‘If I had to face a lifetime without him… my heart would still be broken.’ I whispered, not even sure that the old elf heard it.

Yet he heard it and struck at it at once.

‘How about his heart?’

I shook my head. I could not decide if he was testing me in a mysterious way, or just was incredibly closed-minded. Either way, the situation did not look promising.

‘He, like I, had a choice, Your Excellency.’ I said shortly.

The old elf bowed to me in the next dance move, and as he straightened up, I saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes.

‘Do you think you both have chosen well?’ he asked.

‘Are there good choices in this matter, Your Excellency?’ I asked back. ‘I know that for one year, one day of his flame I would give all: kin, youth, and hope itself. I am a human woman.’

After all, I was a new wife. Deeply in love.

He frowned, but his hostility seemed to have been overtaken by some kind of ethereal sadness.

‘That he should have known.’ he said with a low growl. ‘And he should have withdrawn and not grasp what lay to his hand. Aen Seidhe he should have been.’*

‘For his own sake.’ I added, reminding him of his previous stance.

He looked at me and now there was no venom in his words.

‘For the sake of you both.’ he said. For a moment, he seemed like a bard of the ancients, mourning over the loss of the old glory. ‘You will grow old and know that he has many ages to live yet; and he will watch you die and will ache for you, for many years that follow.’

It was my turn to make a twist, so for a moment, I stood facing Iorveth. His face was dark, and his eye fearful.

_What made him this horrified?_

_Is he worried? For me?_

The dance turned me back to the old elf.

‘I grieved you, lady.’ he said, as he measured my face. ‘Forgive me if I did, for that was not my intention.’

‘Was it not, Your Excellency?’ I looked back at him, letting my doubts out, masked as anger.

He looked back at me, his face was solemn.

‘No, it was not.’ he repeated. ‘For a long time, I despised your kind and everything human. Then a few years ago, when still there was no hope of Dol Blathanna ever emerging from the ashes again, and we were hiding in the woods, starving, I met someone. That meeting helped me understand what I should have known as an Aen Seidhe: there is only one constant law in the world, and that is change. Your kind has caused us many miseries and suffering, yet we should have never lost hope. Here we are, in our country again after hundreds of years, and it is time to build our home instead of fighting your kind. The time of peace and prosperity induces different needs and conditions than the time of contempt, fear and war.’

He twirled me again, yet I was not sure he would be talking to me any more.

‘Yet war is again at our gates, and even our wisest do not see the end. I fear we will face many sadness in the days to come and my soul pains for those who take the pain willfully, not being aware of the consequences.’

Listening to him, my mind was in turmoil. I reminded myself that he had every reason to be bitter; he has lived for long, longer than I could imagine, and he has seen many things happen to his brethren that could make him grievous. I’ve seen the struggles of his folk, through many years and many eyes, and I understood his doubts. I saw a different side of mixed marriages, and their good effects were not negligable, but my aspect was rather economical, looking at the effects of these unions on the society as a whole. The elven lord, however, talked about a more spiritual, personal aspect. A true and sorrowful one.

Still, I felt tenacity awakening in me. The prideful resistance of a human woman in love who knew exactly what she undertook when she married an elf.

I didn’t even recognize the anomaly in that moment.

‘Then why don’t you just simply forbid your children to marry humans, Your Excellency?’ I asked quietly, with a bitter tone in my voice, not looking at him. ‘Save them the woe.’

For a time, he was in silence.

‘That is not mere sadness I have awoken in your heart, lady.’ he said, finally. ‘Do you really love your husband so much?’

I stumbled in my step, his firm grip pulled me back to my balance. The next turn brought us face to face and his dark eyes watched me gravely as I could hardly keep my dignity. I did not understand why his words upheaved me so much. The old elf saw my confusion, and he misunderstood it. Fortunately.

‘In that case, I ask for your forgiveness. It is rare to see such an affection among humans, our youngs are usually no more than exotic wonders to them.’ he said. ‘I cannot tell you joyful things; I sense that you know what you have chosen. Yet at least, your husband will have true memories to live with and that is more than any Aen Seidhe could ask for.’

As he spoke, I forced myself to calm down. I remembered Iorveth’s stories about elves in Francesca Findabair’s court who heavily opposed the disgrace of the Scoia’tael.

_In which faction this elf lord could be?_

‘As I hear, Your Excellency, in these days, many of the elven youth never reach the age of remembrance.’ I said, as softly as I could.

His face stiffened and anger flew over his face. When he reached for my hand, his grasp was firm.

‘I know of them. Wish I didn’t.’ he said. ‘Actually, your husband reminds me of someone who has quite the reputation among those youngsters.’ he said, looking curiously at me. I needed every bit of my composure to keep the smile on my face.

‘Really?’ I asked lightheartedly. ‘He’s not the type.’

_Funny. What other type could he be?_

‘I believe so.’ the old elf nodded. ‘The one I’m talking about would touch a human only to cut its throat.’

He held my hand again and we bowed to each other as the music ended.

‘Never let your husband walk that road, lady.’ he continued silently and he led me back to Iorveth. ‘If he does, he will die a needless death… and your heart will break before its time.’

Well, he had a talent to end the conversation just as dramatically as he began it.

As we approached my companions, Iorveth took a step towards us and reached for my hand.

We were under a thousand eyes, but for once, my need and natural integration met: I rushed into his arms, hoping he would understand that it was necessary. He did, and firmly embraced me, kissing my forehead and stroking my hair. He still had the scent of forests and leather on his skin.

It felt much better than it should have.

‘See, _fraere_ , there was no need to worry. I brought your wife back to you.’ The old elf sadly smiled at Iorveth. ‘Now I understand you a bit better than I did five minutes ago.’

I felt Iorveth’s muscles stiffen, but he kept himself to his role.

‘Thank you, Your Excellency.’ he nodded, holding me even closer.

The elf lord looked at me for a final time.

‘Use the time given to you well, my lady.’ he said. ‘Love him as you can.’

He gave us a nod, then walked away.

I felt Iorveth’s hand stop as he inhaled suddenly from surprise. Triss stepped closer to me, Geralt standing behind her, with anxiety on his face.

‘Are you all right, Ildi?’ Triss asked.

All I could do was to nod.

‘What the hell did he want from you?’ Iorveth asked.

I loosened my arms on his waist as my heartbeat finally slowed down. I looked after my occasional dance partner who now talked to other elves, in a distance from us.

‘The old elf… he is quite the philosopher.’ I said.

Geralt and Iorveth looked at each other, then back at me.

‘Don't you know him?’ Geralt asked.

I shook my head.

‘I’m disappointed in you, smuggler.’ Iorveth said dryly. ‘He is Filavandrel aén Fidháil, from the House of Feleaorn of the White Ships.’

I gasped and looked after the elf again. Of course I knew his name.

‘I had quite the dance partner then.’ I whispered.

‘Filavandrel?’ Triss asked. 'The former ruler of the elves of Dol Blathanna?'

Iorveth nodded.

‘Many tried to persuade him not to accept Francesca's rule, but Filavandrel resigned and he still acts as a counsellor to Francesca.’ he explained.

‘A wise decision, indeed.’ Geralt murmured. ‘I must admit I was not sure what stance would he take.’

‘Now I am really curious how did you two meet.’ Iorveth said to the witcher.

‘Nothing special.’ Geralt shrugged. ‘At first he wanted to kill me, then I charmed him not to.’

Iorveth sneered.

‘You, alone?’

Geralt shrugged.

‘Well, your goddess, Dana Méadbh helped a little.’

Iorveth rolled his eyes.

‘I don’t know why expected a reasonable answer.’

‘It really happened, Iorveth.’ Geralt seemed to immerse in his memories. ‘I was travelling in the area with that useless Dandelion when we were hired in a village to investigate a sylvan who always stole their food. And then we met the elves wandering here… the sylvan was taking all he stole to them.’

‘Yeah, and?’

‘Well, it was not a pleasant meeting.’ Geralt sneered. ‘Filavandrel led the elves and they would have surely ended us, if the Lady of Meadows had not come to him.’

‘So she spoke for you?’  Iorveth asked; he didn’t seem convinced at all.

‘Well… she didn’t really speak.’ Geralt shook his head. ‘She and Filavandrel stood in front of each other. They talked to each other through thoughts.’

‘Lucky you that she was just in the right neighbourhood.’ Iorveth remarked.

‘She lived in the human village, in the form of a young human woman!’ Geralt insisted.

‘As a young human woman, hm.‘ Iorveth clearly did not believe a word. ’How terribly fascinating.’

Geralt seemed genuinely angry and he prepared to answer, but Triss interrupted him.

‘All right, you can discuss this later. The attention is finally drawn from us… and time is running short. We should take our place, Geralt.’

The witcher sneered at Iorveth, who shrugged in return.

_One moment and they’ll stick their tongues at each other._

‘You’re right, Triss.’ Geralt looked back at us. ‘We are going to the trellis, slowly, comfortably.’

‘You have one and a half hour.’ Triss reminded me quietly. ‘I’ll set up the teleport by then.’

‘All right.’ I nodded. ‘Don’t get into trouble.’

She smiled at me.

‘You neither.’

She took Geralt’s arm, and they started to walk towards the atrium, like they would just chat and look around in the palace.

Iorveth and I remained in the hall.

‘So, it seems your first dance was taken away again.’ I said, mainly just to silence my thoughts. I still trembled after the talk with Lord Filavandrel.

Iorveth looked after Geralt and Triss.

‘I sure would be quite upset if I were actually your husband, but I am not, as you have reminded me last night.’ he grinned at me, and I could not decide if he was joking or not, but he didn’t wait for my answer. He watched Filavandrel on the other side of the room and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. ’What did he say to you?’

I lowered my head.

‘Nothing special.’ I murmured something, because, _of course_ , I would not tell him the whole conversation. ‘He disapproved of I marrying you, then of you marrying me, and I managed to convince him that I wed you out of true love and not because I thought you were some special elven prize to win.’

Something sparkled in his eye but disappeared just as suddenly as he tried to gulp back his laughter.

‘Did you, eh?’ he said. ‘Well, that was definitely worth my humiliation.’

‘Humiliation?’ I asked back.

He nodded.

‘The old fox knows our traditions perfectly well. Insisting on to take someone’s wife to dance before he could have his first was considered as an outrageous insult some centuries ago.’ he snorted. ‘It is not a courteous act today neither.’

I shrugged. Filavandrel's words echoed in my head. _Never let your husband walk that road, for he will die a needless death… and your heart will break before its time._

‘I’m sure you’ll survive… I am not your wife. You would not have taken me to dance anyway.’ The words ran out on my mouth before I could catch my thoughts, but it was too late by then.

At first, Iorveth did not even notice my tone.

‘Ildico, we are not here to…’

Within moments, he stopped and watched me, his face was unfathomable, as always. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.

‘Back in Vergen, you said you were not doing this for me.’

I rigidly stared at the embroidery of his collar.

‘Back in Vergen, I meant it.’ I replied. ‘Partly, I still mean it. I’m not doing it… _only for you_.’

I felt his fingers running on my cheek and he lifted my face.

That strange blue colour of his eye and his lips opening to speak suddenly froze me. I didn’t want to hear what he was about to say. The storm inside was just enough to addle my mind.

_He will watch you die and he will ache for you._

_A famous hater of humans, of course.  
_

‘At least now, we really look like spouses.’ I said sourly, before he could speak. ‘Let’s go, it’s time.’

A muscle on his cheek trembled, but finally, he nodded.

‘As you wish.’ he said, releasing my face.

* * *

 I took Iorveth’s arm and we slowly walked past the hall and the atrium. I was grateful that he remained silent; after such an evening, it was hard enough to focus on our task.

I led him down on the stairs, we walked in an unhurried pace so that we would not be conspicuous among the other guests who decided to spend some time in the crisp nightly air.

The sky was starry and clear, like yesterday.

_When he touched my face…_

I shook my head. I was close to the point when, had I been my own subordinate, I would have fired myself.

Iorveth looked at me. I motioned him towards the gardens.

I led him to a hedgerow behind a fountain and suddenly, darkness and silence fell on us, only the water splashes could be heard.

As I watched him, it dawned on me how much younger he looked than usually. Maybe because of his hair, or the small eyepatch, or because his skin was not wrinkled with old wounds?

‘What is it?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I allowed myself a smile as I let his arm and walked forward.

‘I miss that pheasant feather from behind your ear.’ I said. ‘And your scar.’

I heard his scoffing.

‘That is not something I hear every day.’

‘That’s me. I’m a surprise child.’ I replied quietly as I looked around the hedge corner. The garden was familiar, I only had to remember the routes.

_Not much changed since I have been last time._

‘Gods save me from that, you are enough trouble on your own.’ I heard Iorveth’s answer, but his tone was astonishingly friendly. Thank heavens it was dark, he didn’t see my blush.

We arrived at a trellis junction from where the steps leading up to the balcony I was heading for were already perceptible. I waved Iorveth to step next to me, but suddenly, a blaze of light appeared on the stone floor. Someone was coming.

Iorveth jumped next to the hedge at once, taking up the position of a hunting predator, lifting up his hand, ready to catch the approaching one.

‘This might not be necessary.’ I whispered.

‘Why, what do you want to do with them, analyze the cheeseplate?’ he whispered back tartly. I shook my head wildly.

‘And if they are not guards? And if they will be searched for? We should draw their attention away!’

His snarl made him look like a wild wolf.

‘No one is searched for at once.’ he said in a low voice. ‘And how would you draw their attention away? Unless you have a complete orchestra in that pretty cleavage of yours, what do you plan?’

The light drew nearer and nearer. And although I knew that in the next moment I would likely be thrown into the fountain, I listened to my first instinct.

I leaned forward and kissed Iorveth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's meeting with Filavandrel can be read in Andrzej Sapkowski's short story The Edge of the World. 
> 
> *This part of Filavandrel and Ildico's discussion is directly paraphrased from JRR Tolkien's Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.


	21. Hellfire

Rare were the occasions when Iorveth, quite simply, froze from astonishment.

As Ildico’s lips touched his and he felt her hands on his chest, a tempest ran through his mind that he could not decide of. Anger, fear, confusion, surprise… or something entirely different.

He did not even listen to the approaching footsteps until they stopped. He heard a moment of silence, then a low voice said with laughter:

‘Let’s give them a few minutes.’

Then the footsteps slowly departed.

Before Iorveth could think straight, Ildico released him and stepped back, with puzzlement on her face, like she herself would not have believed what she had done a moment ago. She looked up to Iorveth, and again he saw the night lights in her eyes, now even more brightly because of the sorceress’s spell. Iorveth remembered that even the elves in his unit noticed how vividly the smuggler’s eyes mirror the stars; he heard them mention an old elven nursery rhyme. _May there be light in a cloudless sky, stars don’t shine in the liar’s eye_. _Yet may it be the darkest night, a true heart shimmers with starry light._

_One would think that soldiers who walk in blood on a daily basis gave up on such cheesy things long ago._

As he looked at her though, he couldn't help but admit that the rhyme was on spot in her case.

For a moment, he remembered how he hesitated yesterday; yet then, he thought of the scent of her hair, the feeling of her embrace as she ran back to him after her dance with Filavandrel, the fear he felt for her as he watched her with the old fox. The memory swept away all his excuses. He reached out and grabbed her forearm, dragged her to himself and now, he kissed her.

Her fight lasted only for a moment. Her arms slid around his body, her hand gently caressed his face, tangled into his hair, and Iorveth forgot about the danger, the perils, Dol Blathanna, the Pontar Valley, everything.

He lifter her up by her waist and slammed her to the garden wall, pressing her body to the cool stone with his own, grabbing on her wrists.

She looked up to him, desire and fear in her eyes.

‘I am a human.’ she whispered.

Iorveth heaved.

‘I don’t care.’ And his lips were on hers again at once.

She arched herself to him, a moan dying in her mouth, and he felt the softness of her breasts and the muscle movements in her abdomen as she gently rolled her hips against his.

Iorveth gasped as he felt warmth spreading in his own body.

_Now, here?_

_The hell, why not._

He released her lips, caressed his face against her skin and ran his tongue along her neck. She buried her face into his shoulder to keep her sighs quiet as he continued to kiss and bite her neck, down to her clavicle.

She tilted her head back, tendons strained in her throat as she bit on her lower lip, holding back her moans.

_She is accustomed to making love in imminent danger._

_I know that well. Too well._

_The 'en’ca minne', the little love. When you have only a few minutes before returning to the fight, to catch your breath, to_ _remind yourself that there are still good things in this world, even if you taste the last of them._

The recognition made Iorveth’s longing for her deeper than ever.

He kissed her again, and gently slid down his hands on her face, neck and chest, his fingers fondled her breasts through the silk, feeling her nipples harden as he cupped the soft flesh and she sighed his name quietly, burying her face into his shoulder, like a whisper of a light breeze.

Iorveth growled wildly, as he felt heat burning in his groin. He lowered his head and softly bit on her shoulder, then down on her chest, her nipple through the light fabric; then he bent his knee and led his mouth down on her torso, biting her stomach, while he continued to fondle her breasts. Then his hands slid down on her side, to her thighs, under her tunic, touching her between her legs.

 _If I could undress her, to have her only for myself._ Imagining the woman naked under him made him moan.

Ildico put her hand on her mouth to hold back her voice, but Iorveth felt her muscles flex as she moved her hip against his hand, craving for more of his touch.

He chuckled against her stomach as he moved lower down on her body. Suddenly, he felt a raise on her skin under the cloth; cautiously, gently following its trail, he found it led down to the lower part of her abdomen.

_A scar. Huge as it is. What could have happened to her?_

Her quiet sighs swept away his thoughts again.

He bit on her side as he slowly unlaced her trousers, pulling it down from her hips, quietly thanking Triss for the clothing choice, as the sorceress chose a trouser type which was laced all along the women’s groin, up back to their sacral bones.

_Interesting fashion solution, but definitely a handy one._

He kneeled down in front of Ildico, lifted one of her legs to his shoulder and leant forward.

As he touched her with his tongue, she shuddered, hardly suppressing a moan. He grasped her thigh to keep her from twitching, and continued to move his tongue, tasting her gently, listening and answering to her quiet panting, watching what pleasured her the most. Her fingers dug into his hair, lightly touching his ears and Iorveth sighed against her flesh. He lifted his hand and gently slid a finger into her, then another, thrusting his hand in and out, listening to her ragged sighs with satisfaction.

He felt her abdomen clenching and he knew she was close. Usually he took his lovers to the top before he would have had his own pleasure, but now, he stopped. He wanted to see Ildico’s face as she comes undone, as her release takes her. After a final lick, he stood up, and ignoring her cheekily annoyed look, he kissed her with his still wet lips, caressing her hot and sweaty face.

‘Elven scoundrel.’ she moaned softly.

Iorveth gave her a vicious smile.

‘You can say that again.' he whispered back, and kissed her, pulling her body to his.

Then he felt Ildico's hands undo his belt and within a moment, her firm grasp on his hard length, starting to move up and down.

In a flash, Iorveth's mind was clouded by his passion; he panted against her lips, pushing his hip to her hand, needing more and more. She varied the strength of her grip, changing between gentle caresses, circling on the top of his hardness, then grasping it again hardly, watching his reactions. He surrendered to her as she slowly fastened her pace. He felt his release building up in his body, but just before he would have passed the point of no return, her movements turned into gentle touches and she pulled away her hand to embrace him into a kiss, mufling Iorveth's annoyed moan.

'You will pay for that.' he gasped and she smiled.

'No cash with me right here... you'll have to find another way to collect.' she whispered back. Iorveth involuntarily chuckled. Then he grasped on her buttocks, lifted her up, pushed her back to the stone wall and as she clenched to his shoulders, he was inside her. 

He covered her mouth with his own to soften her sudden moan, feeling her fingers combing his hair.

Then, Iorveth felt her hand stopping at the thong of his eyepatch. He lifted his head and looked at her, meeting her gaze, with a question in her eye.

 _Oh, fuck it._ Iorveth slowly nodded.

The woman clenched her teeth and with a sudden movement, she ripped of the eyepatch from his face.

Iorveth remembered her reaction on the glade, yet still, he half expected her to back off, to push him away. Instead, she leaned in and he felt the touch of her soft lips on his hollow eye socket.

His heart skipped a beat, but her lips did not stop; she continued her way through his face, to his ear and gently licked its tip.

Iorveth moaned. She held tight onto him and interlocked her legs around his waist, making it easier for him to move. Pushing her to the stone wall helped him regain his balance, and as he bent her hip towards his own groin so he could pleasure her even better, he started to thrust into her, enjoying the feeling of having her around him.

She leant on his shoulder as her fingernails dug into his back, causing pain and pleasure, and Iorveth moaned hoarsely. He buried his face into her hair, inhaling its scent, some kind of flowery perfume and the fresh sweat on her skin.

‘ _Elaine ehedydd me..._ ’ Iorveth whispered and he felt her smiling against his throat, the gentle touch of her tongue. Then as she strongly bit on his neck, Iorveth nearly lost control, he gasped for a few moments before he continued.

With each move, he felt her becoming tighter and tighter around him, and suddenly, she threw her head backward, her eyes closed and her release finally took her. She gasped for breath in his arms, her chest heaved. Iorveth watched her with pleasure as he continued thrusting into her, taking her to the limit, indulging in her radiating warmth which was just as intense as last night, on the mountain side.

As her body finally started to unwind from her climax, Iorveth also let himself lose focus, and he was undone within a second, riding out every wave of his pleasure, even more intensely as he could not cry out loudly, feeling her nails digging into his shoulders.

For a few moments, they watched each other, panting, with faces red, the veil of pleasure still visible in their eyes. Then she bent over and supported her forehead on his shoulder. Iorveth gently laid his head on hers and their breathing gradually calmed. She slowly put down her legs to the ground and he drew away from her, with a mixture of unwillingness and readiness.

As passion slowly subsided, and he fastened his belt again, Iorveth suddenly realized the absurdity of what just happened.

_If I were my own warrior, I’d probably shoot myself down right now._

Still, he felt the smile never leaving his face as he watched the smuggler fix her clothing.

‘What the hell was that?’ she asked silently, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Iorveth shrugged.

‘Damn great sex, if you ask me.’ he said with a mischievous smile.

Even in the darkness, he saw her blush.

‘Stop bloody grinning, rogue.’ she said, trying but failing to suppress her own smile.

He winked at her.

‘Only after you, woman.’

Ildico chuckled a little.

Then she looked at the direction of the stairs and her features darkened.

‘I’m going now.’ she said, then pointed at a stone wall covered with hedge row before them. He noticed that her hand was trembling. ‘Hide at that row, if the guards come back, they won’t notice you there.’

Iorveth nodded. He felt his stomach clenching and he realized he feared for her. Yet he did not want to frighten her more.

‘Take care.’ he said shortly, but there was warmth in his voice.

Ildico looked up to him, the redness still perceptible on her face.

‘Always do.’ she whispered, but suddenly, she lifted up her hand, with his eyepatch in it. She gave it back to him with a giggle. 'I almost forgot this.'

Iorveth couldn't restrain his wild grin as he took over the eyepatch and put it back on his head.

_So this is how women feel when their panties are given back.  
_

With that, Ildico disappeared around the hedge. Iorveth saw her running up the stairs, then to the balcony, and she disappeared behind one of the silver-filigree doors.

He leaned to the stonewall, forcing himself to concentrate on his task.

As much as you can concentrate with thighs shaking like leaves.

* * *

 

Contrary to what the dh’oine believed, sleeping with humans was not strange to the Scoia’tael. Sometimes, village people and farmers helped the Squirrel units with food or other supplies; Iorveth had no illusions about their sincerity, he knew that most of them were simply afraid. The only reason they did not betray them was that they were even more afraid of being punished, should it come to light that they helped them.

_And afraid that we would have our vengeance._

Of course, the contacts often did not wind up only in the delivery of supplies. As some humans found the elves fascinating, elves were not indifferent to the raw, fresh prettiness of humans either. And there were always some village girls or boys who, after seeing that the Scoia'tael did not come to pillage them, were willing to explore what lay beneath the dark demeanor of the elven warriors. Some of them, Iorveth himself did not refuse. They made him forget for a little while, and sometimes they were good for a bit of a change from his own kin.

Iorveth always tried to avoid these settlements after such affairs; he did not like to leave a trail behind and also, he wanted to cut any strings before they could get attached, as he has seen in the case of some of his warriors; for there was always a chance that they had to cut the throats of the ones they have slept with once. He never thought of abducting these humans, as some other Scoia’tael commando leaders did. Iorveth remembered what happened to Vernon Roche’s second-in-command who was kidnapped by a Scoia’tael commander and kept as a bed warmer for months until Vernon appeared and freed her, killing that bastard.

_What was the name of that woman again? Ves?_

Iorveth never approved of such actions. _Let them go... or give them a quick end._ Maybe that was the only time in his life when he did not feel sorry at all about the death of one of his kin. _  
_

_Pray Vernon never finds out about that, he would laugh his ass off._

Then Gwynbleidd and his illustrious company appeared on the set, counting the smuggler in. She was not remarkably pretty, maybe only charming by human measures; compared to, for example, Triss Merigold, she was definitely not a famous beauty.

_And yet..._

He remembered when he first saw her in the forest of Flotsam. Not before had he actually met her he thought she was clearly insane. Singing along his flute tune, when she knew perfectly well where they walked? And then, as the little company approached the Scoia’tael commander, the smuggler was the only one to watch Iorveth with interest and curiosity rather than fear and tension. It was a rare sight for Iorveth: a dh’oine who was not afraid of him. It annoyed him quite enough.

_That lousy skylark of a whore._

Later, when Gwynbleidd and his companions came to Iorveth to warn him about Letho, she seemed far less friendly; she probably heard from the folk of Flotsam enough about Iorveth’s deeds. Not like he minded her too much; she helped Gwynbleidd, that was the only reason he tolerated her. Especially after he learned that she would not accompany them to Aedirn. Yet, she saved the elven girls, risking her own life. Iorveth was confused as never before. Her behaviour was so unlike of any dh’oine he knew. Gwynbleidd was straightforward, but Ildico was shady, and that did not help Iorveth to trust her. She was always after her own goals, and he did not like that.

But then she worked out this insane plan, as she claimed, to help the Pontar Valley.

What Iorveth saw in Vengerberg, those kids… And her words. _If a dragon does it, it’s the only way. If a dh’oine, it’s a lie_.

He often heard about the animosity the nonhumans living in towns often regarded the Scoia’tael with. For decades, he thought the city nonhumans were simple collaborators, spineless creatures who lacked the bravery for standing out for themselves; therefore, not even worth mentioning. He did not specifically hunt them, but never cared much if nonhumans in town fell victim to the raids of the Scoia’tael.

Then he decided to support Saskia and take his folk to Vergen, to live as townspeople, whom he always despised. He remembered the heated debate he had with Yaevinn, who never wanted to give up the guerilla campaigns. Yaevinn did not want to see that although his reasons were just, they would not hold a future for their people, aside from falling one by one, hastening the extinction of the elven race. As they could not expect support from their own people in Dol Blathanna, the only way was to settle down and adapt, but Iorveth did not really understood what would that mean until he saw the children in Vengerberg, from various races, sitting together... taught by a human woman who once loved an elf, in a time when their relationship could have easily meant their end.

_A human woman who loved an elf…_

Iorveth sighed.

_But what is Ildico’s goal?_

The Scoia'tael commander knew well, as probably Ildico knew just as well that Saskia would get on without him in Vergen. Iorveth was a gifted soldier, but Saskia herself was also a born military talent; in case of an assault, she could have led the troops of Vergen without any problems.

Iorveth was perfectly aware of the fact that he was expendable.

And the smuggler must have known this as well.

What did she say exactly?

_I’m not doing it only for you._

_But what is your true reason, my Skylark?_

Iorveth grinned under his nose. Once this is over, they surely would have a talk. A long talk. Probably with a lot of wine _._

_And a proper bed in sight._

He looked up to the balcony, waiting for her figure to show up.

And he felt his limbs turning into stone, his heart froze. He felt waves of loathing, contempt and anger overflow him, in such an intensity than never before.

After a few moments, seeming like centuries, he turned around and started to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elaine ehedydd me - my beautiful skylark (Elder Speech)


	22. The price of freedom

If I may give you a personal advice: never commit burglary after sex. It might pose a kind of adverse effect on your concentration.

I practically flew through the balcony, to the old silver filigreed door I remembered when I stopped for a few moments, waiting for my heartbeats to slow down.

The last minutes could easily count as the most stupid thing I have ever done in my life. My thoughts were in chaos. Faces flashed in front of my face, Filavandrel’s words, my coterie, the Scoia’tael, all those years in the past, the beatings, the pain, the hatred...

His arms around me.

_He is a murderer, a terrorist._

_But damn… he is good._

I gulped back my laughter.

_And what is more… here, of all places._

I took a deep breath and forced calmness upon myself, I pushed the filigree door and stepped into Chulainn’s study.

It’s been twelve years but nothing has been changed. The beautifully crafted ebony desk, the drawers next to the walls coated with fabrics, the mirrors, the statues I loved as a young girl.

_The statues that saw everything._

_But now, I shall pay back for everything_.

As I approached the desk, a feeling of uncertainty ran through me.

_What if Arondir ordered Chulainn to relocate the correspondence?_

Arondir was one of the most intelligent persons I have ever known, yet the most distrustful and cautious one as well. Moving years of correspondence was just as dangerous as leaving it at its usual place. I had to take the risk and hope that the letters would be there where I remembered.

_If not, well… the cheese and the sex was quite all right._

_Iorveth, you scoundrel._

The lower drawer of the black desk slipped out easily. I leaned over and cautiously reached out to touch its bottom.

 _Click_.

The tiny lock opened and I pushed away the little panel.

As I touched the rough surface of a letter paper, I nearly cried out in joy. The correspondence was there. Moreover, judging by the thickness of the stack, some newer letters were added as well.

Arondir has always been like still water, running deep. I knew that his scheme dated back to several years, even before the Scoia’tael would have emerged from the woods, but he never rushed things, he knew that needed a lot of time and a lot of resources. So much work and so many efforts for a hopeless and mad goal which had no other outcome than the complete annihilation of his own race, but no one could have convinced him about this.

A sixteen-year-old human girl never succeeded, at least.

_She should have shown him that the world could be different and she failed._

_How far he could have gotten through all these years?_

I was sure that some elements of his concepts did not work out as he had wanted; for example, Francesca Findabair was definitely not a part of his plans. By no chance did I say back in Vergen that the duchess might even thanked us if we took Arondir down from the chessboard.

But first, it had to be done.

I pulled out the papers from the drawer, one by one, taking care. As I suspected, there were some newer ones; signed by names which seemed to be of Nilfgaardian origin. I did not have time to read them all, aside from a few lines, mentioning the Scoia’tael, Francesca, even Saskia.

My stomach clenched and I felt shiver running down on my spine.

_You almost destroyed me. You will not have them._

_You will not have Iorveth._

I reached into the drawer to pull out the last letters and as I bent over, I saw something glitter on the desk. I kneeled up and slowly reached for it. Its touch was cold, hard. I slowly gripped on it. I knew what it was.

A silver necklace hung from my palm, with a dim achat medallion. The metal blackened through the years, but it was the same necklace.

 

_‘You like Enid an Gleanna’s necklace? What would a little human like you do with such an ornamental jewelry? Here, I brought you something that fits you better.’ He lifted up the necklace and clasped it around the girl’s neck, before waiting for her approval. ‘Silver is good enough for a human. With time, it darkens, until nothing distinguishes it from the soil. Just like humans who decompose in their graves, before an Aen Seidhe would even count as old. And why would you want to wear gemstones? A semi-gemstone will do just as well. You should not climb higher than where you are, sweet thing.That is what will cause the fall of your race.’ She felt the touch of his hand on her face and she tried to hold back her urge to cry. ‘There. Do you like it?’_

_She did not answer, just sat straight, being ready for everything._

_Back then, she thought she’d already seen it all._

_But he did not move, he did not touch her._

_‘It fits you.’ he repeated. ‘If you try to take it off… it will remind you of your place.’_

 

I stared at the necklace. Why it was even kept? I did not remember where I lost it; after that night, when I regained my consciousness, I did not have it with me any more. Letho said something about utilizing his witcher-skills that night; probably some of them could have broken the necklace’s spell.

_'With time, it darkens, until nothing distinguishes it from the soil. Just like humans who decompose in their graves, before an Aen Seidhe would even count as old.'_

Where have I heard a similar phrase?

_'Your kind multiplies like vermin, though thankfully expires quickly!'_

Am I walking into the same trap again?

I strengthened my grip on the metal again. As I touched that coldness which was my constant companion for nearly a year, I felt anger rising in me, and within an instant, I tore the thin chain apart. It was not in my neck anymore. It could not have its vengeance. But for me - oh, it felt so good. Like every chain, every mask I have ever worn would have fallen from my body.

I put the broken necklace back on the desk. _Have it, bastards, if you need it so much_.

I took up the letters and folded them in half, put back the drawer, then left the study.

Feeling the chilly night air on my face again, I looked around. Iorveth’s silhouette kneeled still next to the hedge row. My thought a moment ago did not matter anymore; heat flew over my chest and I so wished to be in his arms again, more than anything in this world.

But the other half of my task still lay ahead of me.

I ran to the stairs on the opposing end of the balcony which led to the other side of the garden, giving an easier access to the trellis we were heading to.

I ran down on the stairs and easily found the corner. I heard the voices of Triss and Geralt from the distance; they were somewhere close, probably held up by another guest.

I did not want to risk exposure; slowly, I walked to the dark trellis. From a gap in the hedge, the lights of the palace could be seen, as well as the talking Triss who chattered with a lady. Geralt stood next to her, tongue-tied.

_Next time, he will be the horse._

I easily found the pile of our weapons. Iorveth’s quiver had a pouch sewn on its side; I slid the letters into it and folded back its cover. That should give a secure hold to the correspondence until we get to a safer place.

I planned to walk back to Iorveth through the garden, but I did not want to raise suspicion by walking out of the shadows like nothing happened, so I chose the longer way: back on the stairs, through the balcony.

_Back to Iorveth._

I made quite a few stupid mistakes that evening, but having been immersed in my thoughts, letting Iorveth’s mischievously gleaming eye occupy my mind as I walked through the balcony probably topped them all.

The person who grabbed me covered my mouth before I had even had the chance to cry out. My attacker dragged me back to the darkness of the study, and pushed me to the marble wall, his hand still on my mouth. As I saw his brown hair and dark blue mandel-shaped eyes, I froze.

_Oh no, not you._

Chulainn recognized me as well; his eyes widened with surprise. His hand loosened on my face.

‘Angelika?’

I inhaled deeply.

_Not this name._

Chulainn studied my features in excitement and interest.

‘Angelika.’ he said again, now with certainty in his voice. ‘I thought you were dead.’

_And that should have remained so._

I wheezed and felt my lips numbing. I still did not reply to him as he watched me inquiringly.

‘Why are you here, in an elven palace?’ he asked then. ‘The last time I saw you you said you wished the elven race to be burned and eradicated from this sphere.’

I faced him and this time, I found the words.

‘The last time you saw me I lay in the pool of my own blood, half-dead. And you stood above me and did nothing.’

His eyes were still searching my face, like he would not want to believe what he saw.

‘So this is why you came back?’ he asked. ‘To have your vengeance?’

The pressure in my chest clenched on my neck.

‘How dare you speak to me about vengeance?’ I asked back, words coming out as low growls from my throat.

His face seemed almost sad.

‘Angelika, I know you do not believe when I say I am truly sorry.’ he said. ‘Yet remember, I always told you that you would never understand.’

 _The silent partner in the background._ Chulainn was a person of duty, an elf who subordinated everything to his ideas, no matter what his personal feelings would be.

He tilted his head to the left, thoughtfully.

‘So why are you here now?’ he asked again. ‘And what business do you have with that scum of a Squirrel?’

I let out a breath, frightened.

'How...?'

Chulainn raised an eyebrow.

‘Are you surprised?’ he asked. ‘Did he never tell you why he never came to Dol Blathanna? Every Scoia’tael is subjected to tracking magic. If they step into the country, they are detected at once.’

 I felt the blood running out of my face.

'The Cysgodol Palace lies on the borders of Dol Blathanna, but this is the territory of Aedirn.' I pressed out the words. 'There are no magical markers on the Scoia'tael here.

He gave me a constrained nod.

'I must admit, your concealing magic worked well. Had you not broken that necklace, I might have never noticed that something is wrong. I could not imagine who would have done it… And here you are, Angelika, arisen from the dead.’

This time, I could not hold back my tears of desperation.

_Idiot, you idiot._

I should have known that the necklace still kept some of its magic. When I had to wore it, it never let me walk freely. I could only move within a circle and if I tried to tear it off, it sent a wave of warning magic, to identify where I was exactly in that area. No wonder it still worked. And no wonder Iorveth fell into that range as well.

 _The good news was that probably Triss and Geralt were out of its scope_.

The recognition gave me back my confidence. We may yet walk away from this in one piece.

I looked back at Chulainn, my mouth shut hard.

He did not seem angry.

‘It matters not if you do not tell me. Now that you are here, you can be of use to us again.’ He scratched his chin. ‘You definitely can be.’

‘Do not even dream of it.’ I hissed.

‘You definitely can be.’ he repeated. ‘Oh, yes. The ambassador’s daughter, thought to be dead, finally has been recovered from the terrorists who held her in captivity for years. Yes, that would appeal to the emperor.’

Suffocation gripped on my throat and I could hardly speak.

‘Why would a group of bandits keep an important person in captivity for years? No one does that, a ransom is asked or they simply kill them.’ I objected desperately. ‘Who would believe you?’

Chulainn’s face was a mask of quietness, as always.

‘Nilfgaard’s aversion to the Squirrels is at such a high level where practically anything would make a proper casus belli.’

I shook my head.

‘If it was not for the Scoia’tael, you’d have no home. And you would toss them to the death pit?’ I pressed out the words. ‘Leave them be, let them live!’

Chulainn looked like a sad king of old tales who had to make a just decision, may it break his heart.

‘You could team up with Filavandrel in Francesca’s court, Angelika. The old fool keeps telling us the same… The glory of our race does not matter to him anymore. He might as well qualify as a dh’oine.’ he said, with despise in his voice. ‘We need to have the emperor to trust us. And when we have his trust, he will die. Our land will no longer be an allod, we will be free and we will take back our forefathers’ lands.’

I knew this madness too well, I have known about it for too long. I thought about Marika, the children in Vengerberg.

'You know well that for every slain human, ten nonhumans will die in the nonhuman districts.' I muttered.

Chulainn held his head high, looking up to the sky.

'A sorrowful consequence, indeed.' he said, and there was sincere pain in his voice. 'Yet they have lived amongst the dh'oine for so long, they hardly could be distinguished from them anymore. That is no life what they live.'

I felt my fists clench.

'And of course, you decide who has the right to live.' I said determinedly, looking him in the eye, knowing that he is perfectly aware of what I was talking about.

He had the decency to cast down his eye.

'For a greater cause.' he whispered.

I squealed powerlessly. 

_How can they call themselves the saviors of their people when they sacrifice their kin so easily?_

‘It could have been differently, Chulainn.’ I reminded the elf. ‘You could have had your freedom with me. I was given you as a token, and believe me, I would have readily paid the price.’

He gave me a slightly noticeable scoff.

‘Bargaining with humans? Acting like they had any say in our lands?’

‘Your master still accepted that bargain.’

He looked away, to the gardens.

‘Warfare is based on deception, Angelika.’ he said.

‘Warfare against a young girl.’ I replied scornfully.

He looked back at me.

‘And how many of our young girls have the dh’oine dishonoured? How many daughters will never return to their homes?

‘Am I the one responsible for that?’ I cried out.

He looked at me almost woefully. ‘I do not expect you to understand it, Angelika. I never did. It is beyond your grasp, little human. If you are willing to help the elves, as you insist, accept it. With you and Iorveth in our hands, you have no other choice anyway.’

My heart sunk.

 _Iorveth_.

I remembered Dandelion’s lamentation back in the inn of Flotsam that whether the Scoia’tael leader still knew what he was fighting for had been an open question for years; even those who had known him for a long time had their doubts. Yet Iorveth was ready to protect his people whenever and wherever they were in need, he was able to recognize that if he wanted to give a home to the ones following him, he had to take a new path. For better or for worse, he definitely knew what he was fighting for. Elves like Arondir and Chulainn have forgotten it a long time ago. Strange it may sound, the Scoia’tael elves have not lost the memory of their innocence.

_Or have they?_

‘Chulainn, I beg you, let him go.’ I whispered helplessly. ‘You have me.’

He tilted his head again.

‘At the moment, three of my archers are aiming at him. They are waiting for my command.’

I gasped. _Why doesn’t he simply order fire?_

‘What do you want?’

He slowly walked to the filigree door, looking out.

‘Don’t think I do not commiserate with you, Angelika.’

‘Stop calling me like that.’

‘It is your name.’

‘It is not anymore.’

He paused for a while, searching my face.

‘For the sake of our old acquaintance, I will let Iorveth leave. Let him go back to that dragon-pretender. We will sweep them away in no time, Arondir will make sure of it. Don’t look at me like it would surprise you. What else would you have come for than the extradition?’ He waved at me to stay silent. ’Promise me that you will act as I tell you. You abandon your plan, whatever it may have been. You denounce the Scoia’tael in public. You assure the emperor that your greatest wish is to annihilate them. If you do that, I will let Iorveth go.’

I hardly could keep myself together.

_Iorveth, what have I done to you?_

‘Chulainn, you were never cruel to me.’ I whispered. In vain, I knew. He never hurt me, but never protected me.

‘Answer.’

‘Why are you doing this? You know that Arondir is insane, whatever he is planning, it will bring massacre!’

‘I don’t expect you to understand what Arondir is planning, Angelika. You are a good soul, yet you are but a dh’oine. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘I have been working on the wellbeing of nonhumans for years, Chulainn.’ I moaned, the urge to cry choked on my throat. ‘I could have gone rogue, I could have had revenge… You know that I had the reason.’

He slightly lowered his head, a gleam of sadness beamed in his eye.

‘There is no path to freedom without committing horrible sins.’ He looked into the garden again. ‘It seems like you would not know who you are travelling with.’

‘He is not like that!’ I exclaimed.

‘Angelika, you cannot be serious.’ he said.

‘I am serious.’ I hissed. ‘Whatever Arondir’s goal would be, his path leads to destruction. Iorveth has learnt to build and create, to look into the future instead of peering into the past!’

He looked at me and there was pity in his eyes.

‘You’ve fallen for him, blind child.’

‘I… I am not blind.’ I stuttered slowly, but as I finished the sentence, I felt uncertainty come upon me. What if Chulainn is right? What if I defend a killing machine who does not differ from Arondir in the slightest? Arondir and Chulainn were ready to let their people die just to reach their goals. And Iorveth?

_‘We set sail, our women are prepared to die!’_

And then I remembered the abacus. His touch on my skin, his arms around me, the world in his eye in the starlit night.

_‘Elaine ehedydd me...’_

_I am doomed._

‘Let him go.’ I whispered.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I am.’

Chulainn nodded.

‘All right. Then let’s make sure he leaves as soon as he can.’

‘What...’ I didn’t have the time to finish the question because he dragged my arm and he pushed me to the filigree door of his study, out to the balcony.

‘Stand straight and calm your features.’ he whispered. ‘You are next to an ally.’

I understood what he wanted.

‘You cannot do this.’ I moaned as we stood at the handrail. I saw Iorveth keeping watch next to the hedge row where we were supposed to meet; he kept looking around.

‘Should I have him shot instead? You still can decide.’

At that moment, Iorveth noticed us.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move at all; then he stood up and took some steps towards our direction, looking at me. I saw how his feelings stormed, he couldn’t decide if I needed help.

Or…

‘Don’t hurt him.’ I moaned, as quietly as I could.

I felt Chulainn’s grasp strengthen around my arm.

‘All right. Point at him.’ he said. ‘Show him to me.’

I turned my head towards Chulainn.

‘What?’

‘Look back at him. Point at him.’ he said. ‘I give you three seconds, Angelika. Or he will die.’

I raised my arm like it would weigh a mountain and did what Chulainn commanded.

At that moment, Iorveth’s features changed. His face was overflowed with such a feral, primeval hatred I have never seen on him before, not even on the ship on Flotsam when he wanted to kill me. His eye was a knife of vengeance, a dagger that would wait for its enemy and struck them when it was time.

Then he turned away and ran into the depth of the gardens.

_He is safe._

_Pray he lets me explain next time we meet before he disembowels me._

‘Perfect, we are done here. Now he can go wherever he pleases.’ Chulainn said, as he slowly backed into his study, still holding my arm.

‘You are a monster.’ I said, and as my face was hidden by the dark of his room, I didn’t hold back my tears any longer.

Chulainn’s eyes were full of sadness.

‘I am sorry, Angelika, I truly am.’ he said. ‘But I serve a greater purpose and our people have given up far too much for us to stand aside.’

‘Pray that the price you pay will not be too high.’ I said and he looked at me sharply.

‘For freedom, no price is too high.’ he said.

I looked back at him and I didn’t even try to hide my despise.

‘You have no idea what freedom is.’

He watched me pensively, then shrugged.

‘You, a human lecturing me about freedom? I told you that you would not understand.’ he said, then pushed me to the direction of the corridor. ‘Let’s go.’

I obeyed him and I was glad that he didn’t see my face because I felt a flicker of glory in my heart.

_Triss and Geralt were not exposed and the letters are in good hands. Sooner or later, Iorveth must find them._

_And I am not defeated yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have reached the bottom of the chapter, congratulations :D This might have been the most difficult chapter to write so far, I hope I didn't mess it up too much. If you have questions, feel free to ask; suggestions, comments, critiques are welcome, as always.


	23. Tell them I ain't coming back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing and proofreading was done by TwilightFalls. Thank you so much for your generous help!

Iorveth has learned during his life that caution always pays off, for death can await at every corner.

_Nice to be reminded of this lesson the one single time I cease to be cautious._

He jumped from shadow to shadow, hiding behind the hedges and walls, silencing his mind by evoking the practices of his military training, scouting ahead, evaluating the environment. Running in front of a hedge opening, he saw a familiar figure standing in the garden.

_What is this geezer doing here?_

Filavandrel stood in a secluded booth, hidden from the other guests. There was an elven woman with him, whose rhythmic, graceful gestures filled the air with blue light.

_A mage._

_What have I gotten myself into?_

Iorveth gave them another suspicious glance; then he jumped up and ran forward, looking for Geralt and Triss.

He noticed them from a distance and saw at once that something was amiss. Triss seemed very frightened as she tried to conjure, Geralt stood next to her, peering around anxiously.

_Such gullible fools we were._

‘Iorveth!’ Geralt exclaimed as the elf got there to them. ‘We have a problem!’

‘Just the one?’ Iorveth asked sourly. ‘You are lucky.’

They immediately noticed his tone.

‘What happened?’ Geralt asked. ‘Where are the letters?’

‘Where is Ildico?’ Triss snapped at him, on the brink of crying.

Iorveth was not in the mood for sentimentality, but the tears gleaming in Triss’s eye did not leave him indifferent.

‘Our Songbird is not the person we thought she was.’ he replied darkly, then turned to Geralt. ‘We’ve been betrayed. We must get out of here as soon as we can.’

Triss did not leave time for Geralt to answer.

‘What do you mean?’ she raised her voice desperately. ‘Where have you left Ildico? I am not leaving without her!’

Iorveth waved at her impatiently.

‘It is very kind of you, Merigold. Too bad she's the one who left you behind, without even blinking an eye!’

Triss clamped her hand overher mouth.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she burst out again, her hand muffling the volume of her voice.

Geralt looked at Iorveth inquiringly.

The elf tried, but could not hide away his bitterness.

‘I saw her, Gwynbleidd.’ he said, trying to calm his tone. ‘She was with Chulainn on the balcony and she showed him where I was hiding. They are probably still after me.’ He lifted his head. ’We must leave immediately.’

The sorceress whimpered in tears.

‘Ildi couldn’t…’ she whispered.

Geralt shook his head, sadness and anger on his face.

‘There is not much to debate about this anymore, Triss.’ he said, and his voice was gentle yet commanding. ‘Try to open that teleport again!’

‘Again?’ Iorveth raised an eyebrow.

Geralt did not say anything, but his look spoke louder than any words could have.

‘I saw Filavandrel, he was with a mage.’ Iorveth said. ‘She was casting a spell, if I saw correctly.’

Triss tried to get her act together.

‘This is not the doing of one mage.’ she murmured as she tried to repeat her previous hand movements. ‘Ancient magic lies within this valley, something must have activated it. The magical spectrum is narrowed down… some kind of safety measure.’

Iorveth’s fists clenched.

_Of course, you thought of everything, you treacherous slut._

Triss was working fast, but finally, she turned to the witcher.

‘I can’t, Geralt.’ she said silently. ‘I cannot setup a portal that could hold the three of us!’

Iorveth reacted quickly.

‘Can you take the two of you out?’ he asked.

Geralt lifted up his hand, protesting.

‘We will not leave you here, Iorveth.’

‘You do not have to.’ the elf replied, almost sadly. ‘I can escape through the gardens and return to my unit. Meanwhile, you can teleport back to Vergen and tell Saskia what happened.’

‘Wait, are you not coming back…?’ Triss asked in surprise, still in tears.

Iorveth lowered his head.

‘It will be better for all of us. This way, I shall not a burden on the Pontar Valley anymore. Saskia can condemn me publicly and she should not have to fear because of those Dol Blathannan bastards.’ he said and a sad smile appeared on his face. ‘Besides, I have been a vagabond for more than a century… It was just a matter of time when I would get back on the road again.’

‘Iorveth, Saskia would never do that to you!’ Triss hissed, but the elf shook his head.

‘Well then, use your famous persuasive sorceress-skills and Geralt his charm.’ he said dryly. ‘You must make her understand. I am a dispensable asset. And I can help her in other ways, too.’

‘Iorveth, such a heroic act of self-sacrifice?’ Geralt could not hold back a smile. ‘What will people think?’

‘That you are an ass, as always, witcher.’ Iorveth smirked, but the smile quickly disappeared. ‘I am a soldier. I am prepared to do my duty, whatever that takes. Now, go!’

‘Iorveth…’ Geralt tried to oppose again, but the elf waved at him, running to the bush where his quiver and bow lay hidden. He quickly buckled them on.

‘Go, Gwynbleidd. Help Saskia, help the Pontar Valley!’

The sorceress cried out again.

‘Iorveth, this must be a misunderstanding, please…’

‘Triss, calm yourself!’ Geralt, losing his patience, barked at her, then turned to Iorveth again, with a gentler expression.

‘I will find you. We will see this through, friend.’

Iorveth’s face darkened.

‘I will definitely see it through when I gut that bitch.’ he snarled, then turned away, jumped over the hedge and disappeared in the night.

* * *

The hillside where he was supposed to meet his unit was not far from the castle, yet it took a lot more time for him to get there than it should have. Iorveth knew that he should have run breathless, that probably he had still been followed, but he could not take up a faster pace. He could not even feel pain anymore - it was as if his heart had turned into an empty pit.

_Fool, fool. How could I have believed her, how could I have thought that she would be different?_

He fought back the urge to roar into the night and continued his way.

After a while, he noticed the tiny watchlight in the darkness of the trees.

As he stepped out to the glade where his unit stationed, the elves immediately surrounded him.

‘Iorveth!’

Ciaran ran up to the commander in a hurry, catching his arm.

‘Iorveth?’ he asked, looking around. ‘What happened? Where is Gwynbleidd? Triss? Where is Ehedydd?’

The look Iorveth gave Ciaran immediately silenced the young elf. He watched the commander in horror, as Iorveth stumbled and leaned against a tree, slowly pulling down the eyepatch from his head and looking down on the ground. He wheezed and did not say a word.

Ciaran looked around helplessly as the other elves slowly gathered around them, looking at Iorveth questioningly. Their puzzlement soon turned into despair, as they watched their commander.

‘Iorveth?’ Ciaran asked again, with prayer in his voice.

The commander still could not look at the elves.

_I let them down, again, and for what... How could I ever believe that a dh’oine would want to help us in any way, how could I fall for that, again?_

_How could I…_

He howled, and crushed into the tree in helpless rage.

The elves stood frightened. The hopelessness on their face made Iorveth’s heart ache even more desperately.

_You will pay for this, whore._

‘We’ve been betrayed.’ he said slowly, forcing calmness into his voice. ‘I should have known. All dh’oine are traitorous scum.’

‘Iorveth, what…’ Ciaran tried to interrupt, but Iorveth motioned him to stay silent.

‘I saw it.’ he said. ‘There can be no doubt. I don’t know what she wanted, neither do I care. She was working for her own goals and when she got them, she simply threw us away. I was wrong to trust her.’

Gasps of surprise sounded all around.

Ciaran’s desperate look soon turned into a sharp, steely expression as he realized the meaning of Iorveth’s words. He inhaled deeply to control his temper. Iorveth had known him for a time. He knew the scope of Ciaran’s anger.

The commander turned away again.

‘Triss and Geralt are safe... they teleported back to Vergen.’ he said.

‘So they…’ Ciaran started but did not finish the question. Iorveth nodded.

_The quim fooled all of us._

Iorveth turned back to his unit.

‘I will not go back to Vergen. ’ he said. ‘I would only mean a burden to Saskia; now she can freely name me a deserter and the Pontar Valley will be delivered from the threats. But you all… I promised you that you would live in your own homes, your own land, in freedom and peace. You are free to go back to Vergen if you want. I will not ask you to stay with me… Especially now when I have let you down again.’

‘How could you have known, Iorveth?’ Ciaran said quietly, but Iorveth shook his head.

‘I should have known. No dh’oine is to be trusted.’

His gaze turned up to the sky which was still cloudless. The field of stars shone like nothing would have happened an hour ago.

Iorveth shuddered and closed his eye. He felt something warm running down on his face and he realized it was a teardrop.

He could not remember the last time he wept.

He looked at his people again.

‘You are free.’ he said. ‘Go back to Vergen. Build yourself a home.’

The elves stood in silence.

Then Ciaran stepped up to him.

‘For whatever it is worth, Iorveth… I am with you to the end, wherever you lead.’ he said in a determined voice.

‘Me too.’ said Myriel.

‘And I as well.’ said Amira, and one by one, all the elves stood around Iorveth, swearing their loyalty to him once more.

Iorveth hardly could hide his emotions, as he nodded to them gratefully and sorrowfully.

_They sacrificed their lives for me._

‘Ciaran, ready the unit to march. We’re leaving.’ he said to his lieutenant and the young elf slightly bowed his head. He motioned the others to follow him and everyone obeyed, except one.

Myriel stayed behind. The elven woman looked at the commander with a raised eyebrow.

‘What is it?’ Iorveth asked.

Myriel did not reply at once.

‘Commander, are you sure?’

Iorveth stared at her.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

Myriel stepped closer.

‘Commander, I am not blind. I saw how you looked at that human girl. And I saw how she looked at you.’ she said with certainty.

Iorveth felt heat of anger rising in his chest.

‘Tell me how I looked at her, Myriel.’ he said ominously. ‘I’m listening.’

Myriel did not back off.

‘Are you sure she betrayed you?’ she asked.

Iorveth scoffed.

‘Of course, it is only the matter of my imagination that a dh’oine acted according to its nature.’ he growled.

The elven woman did not falter.

‘What if she needs help? Would you leave her behind?’ she insisted, a tear appearing in her eye.

Iorveth could not control his anger anymore.

‘I would, without hesitation, as she has left me behind.’ he said in a low, menacing voice.’ And the gods help her that her accomplices slit her throat before I get to her.’

Myriel bit on her lower lip, prayer in her voice.

‘Do you remember the rhyme, commander? _May there be light in a cloudless sky, stars don’t shine in the liar’s eye_.’

Iorveth gasped and turned his back on Myriel. He did not want the elven woman to see the pain that struck him.

‘That is only a children’s rhyme, Myriel.‘ he said, whispering into the night. ‘Could we ever believe it? Have we ever been children?’

The elven woman took a step in his direction and lifted her hands beseechingly.

‘Please, commander, give me a few minutes!’ she pleaded on the brink of despair. ‘I’ll infiltrate the palace and look around for her. At least we can be sure then.’

For a moment, it seemed Iorveth would yield, but abruptly, he shook his head.

‘The palace is now in turmoil, I won’t let you risk your life.’ he said. ‘We are leaving.’

‘But commander…’

‘Myriel, enough.’ Iorveth looked at her, his face blank, his voice portentous. ‘Do not test my patience.’

Myriel watched him for a moment, then she lowered her head. She bowed rigidly and left to join Ciaran.

Iorveth turned around and took a last look to the palace bathed in light. His chest heaved, his heart pounded heavily.

Suddenly, he noticed something on the sky. A strange cloud. Then another…

 _Smoke signals_.

Iorveth shook his head. There was only one person who used these signals...

 _This is a trap. It cannot be him_.

He turned away to follow his unit.

_Once again… we are exiled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last update for a while, winter festivities are coming and my final exam is in mid-January, so I'm kinda showered with real life now. The story will continue sometime in the second half of January.
> 
> Until then, I'd like to recommend some of my fav Witcher-fics:  
> [The Sorceress Wore Black](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9334385/chapters/21151148) by [Melaena](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Melaena/pseuds/Melaena) \- A wonderful noir AU crime story.
> 
> [The Mold of the Auricle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11174577/chapters/24945531) by [YELLING_IN_YOUR_HEAD](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YELLING_IN_YOUR_HEAD/pseuds/YELLING_IN_YOUR_HEAD) \- An Iorveth/Tomira story, wonderful depiction of the lore, great characterizations and story. 
> 
> [Defeating the Fire - Book 1 ](https://yrdenne.deviantart.com/gallery/62288885/Defeating-the-Fire-Book-1) by [Yrdenne](https://yrdenne.deviantart.com/) \- A great Iorveth/OC fic with a super sweet, Oxenfurt-educated medic protagonist, a wonderful storyline and a lot of interesting OC characters.
> 
> I wish peaceful and lovely winter holidays to you all! :)


	24. Something ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing and proofreading was done by TwilightFalls. Thank you so much!

Though a face of a human looks back from the mirror, she never sleeps as deep as humans do. Night is just like the day; daytime noises belong to the city, nighttime noises to nature. She can see into the hearts of men, elves and dwarves, deeper than they could ever imagine.

_Dragon things._

Just like the feeling that trouble would soon storm into her room.

* * *

‘Geralt!’ Saskia stood up. ‘Miss Merigold!’

Her face was solemn and not as surprised as Geralt expected her to be.

‘Iorveth is not with you.’ she said.

Geralt and Triss looked at each other, still panting from running. The teleport opened somewhere around the burnt village, outside Vergen. Geralt did not leave Triss time to start objecting again, he grabbed her hand and they ran, through all Vergen, up to Saskia’s suite.

The sorceress’ makeup was messed up, her dark eyeliner was smudged on her cheeks. Her beautiful dress was torn and wrinkled. She hardly could hold back her sobbing; as the cloaking spell diminished, her hair gleamed in its original colour. And with all that, she still was beautiful, but she could not touch the witcher's heart now.

_As beautiful as ignorant and weak, as she has always been._

Geralt sighed angrily. _Why have I agreed to do this in the first place?_

The witcher turned back to Saskia.

‘Iorveth will not come back.’ he said darkly.

Saskia sat down next to her table and motioned them to sit down as well.

‘Drink something.’ she said. ‘Then tell me what happened.’

Geralt obeyed mechanically. The momentary peace and the taste of the fine dwarven ale calmed his mind a bit. Next to him, Triss gripped her glass and closed her eyes. Tears kept rolling down on her face, leaving shining trails.

Geralt fought back his compassion.

He turned to Saskia and told her everything. How it began in Vergen, how they arrived at the Aedirnian-Dol Blathannan border, the party and how Iorveth rushed to them, discovering the betrayal.

Triss sat in silence, she did not interrupt once.

‘He will not come back, Saskia.’ Geralt concluded. ‘He wishes that you condemn him a deserter, a war criminal, so the Pontar Valley would be freed from the requirements of Dol Blathanna.’

Saskia sat calmly, sorrow appearing on her face.

‘The proud Scoia’tael leader. He has killed more humans than you have eaten chickens. He is one of the most rotten and ironically, one of the purest souls I have ever known.’ she said melancholically, then looked at Geralt. ‘Sadly, this will not be so easy as he thinks. The Dol Blathannan ambassador is becoming more and more aggressive. The scouting campaign I invented to cover your absence does not satisfy him as an explanation… I think he is very close to accusing me of hiding Iorveth.’ she continued. ‘I don’t know how would he react to such news.’

Geralt covered his face in helpless anger.

‘Then not only was all we did in vain, we even made everything worse.’ he growled. ‘If I get that woman…’

‘Geralt, no.’ Triss said, in a very low, yet resolute voice.

Geralt didn’t even bother to look at her. He didn’t even respond to Saskia’s inquiring look.

‘I took all responsibility.’ he said, resignation in his voice, but the queen shook her head.

‘The responsibility was never yours, witcher. You tried and you failed. Failure is not a sin.’ she said, then sighed. ‘The question is, what can we do now?’

Sharp sound of knocking interrupted their conversation; a young dwarf, Cecil’s nephew, Skalen Burdon stepped into Saskia’s suite. Surprise appeared on his face as he noticed Geralt.

‘Witcha, are you back? How ‘bout a round of dice poker later?’

Geralt couldn’t restrain his smile.

‘Last time I smoked you like a ham, you declared you would never play with me again.’

‘Ye had luck, witcha, but not next time!’ Skalen grinned, then bowed to Saskia. ‘Forgive me for disturbing so late, but ya have a visitor, my lady.’

‘A visitor?’ Saskia raised her eyebrows. ‘Who might it be?’

‘I don’t know, but he says it is urgent that ya speak.’

‘All right.’ the queen nodded. ‘Let him in.’

Skalen motioned towards the door, and a tall, lean, cloaked figure appeared in the room. Skalen bowed, then left the suite, waving at the witcher.

The mysterious figure took a step closer to them and pushed back the hood from his face to reveal the features of a white-haired elf; with face just as smooth as the ones of his young kinsmen, but eyes deep, as wells of memories and knowledge.

His gaze moved to Geralt.

‘Greetings, Gwynbleidd.’

The witcher felt his neck stiffen, but somehow he managed to strain out a nod.

‘Greetings, Filavandrel.’

The elven lord examined the witcher and Triss. Recognition glimmered in his eyes.

‘I’d say it’s been a long time, but it seems to me that we have already met during this evening.’

_Of course, I’ve seen him but an hour ago._

His voice was so calm and firm that Geralt saw no point in denying the obvious.

‘We have met indeed, Filavandrel.’

‘’Tis a pity you have not greeted me. We have been through so much together.’ the elf lord said dryly, then turned to Saskia. His light bow was a gesture of respect - unlike the challenging gleam in his eyes.

‘I am honoured to finally meet the famous sovereign of the Pontar Valley.’ he said.

Saskia nodded, accepting his greeting.

‘The honor is with me.’ she replied, with a tone of sarcasm in her voice. ‘I am proud to welcome two prominent members of the government in Dol Blathanna under our humble roofs.’

Filavandrel seemed slightly annoyed.

‘If I might count on your kindness, my lady Queen… I would be immensely grateful if the honored ambassador Arondir of our duchy would not know about my presence.’

Saskia raised an eyebrow.

‘I’ll see to it, Your Excellency, but may I ask why?’

‘We are not exactly on the same side, neither cordially nor politically. And my business here is rather of… personal interest.’ the old elf replied in a sour tone. ‘For the moment, at least.’

Geralt watched the old elf suspiciously. 

‘How did you know that we would be here, Filavandrel?’ he asked.

The old elf slowly walked to the table and sat down. He put his elbows on the wood.

‘We have mages who are able to detect if a teleport is opened and determine where does it lead.’ he replied.

_Of course, Iorveth mentioned the mage._

‘But I opened the teleport to the outskirts of Vergen.’ Triss opposed. ‘Why did you come here?’

Filavandrel seemed drifting away with his memories.

‘When I was young, my people still walked these fields. Many things a mortal can forget but never the hills that were his home once. I knew where to come.’

His words were followed by gloomy silence. The silence of the past that passed and the future which does not know yet what would come.

Then Geralt lifted his head.

‘Why are you here, Lord of the Silver Tower?’ he asked.

Filavandrel leaned forward.

‘I think, my friend, it is you who should start the talking. After all, your performance at Cysgodol can easily be interpreted as provocation or hostile infiltration. But for what purpose?’ he said, looking around. ‘Where are your comrades? The elf and the human woman I danced with.’

The witcher closed his eyes.

‘The elf did not follow us, he managed to escape.’ he said quietly. ‘The woman… she is the reason why we are talking now. In the end, she proved to be a traitor.’

‘She didn’t!’ Triss snapped at Geralt, who turned to her angrily.

‘Triss, for fuck’s sake, do you think Iorveth hallucinated what he saw?’

The sorceress struck the table with surprising force.

‘I don’t care what Iorveth saw, I know that Ildi…’

‘Iorveth?’

Filavandrel’s calm voice immediately cooled them down. They stared at the old elf like children who had been caught in a mischief.

Filavandrel leaned back, raising his eyebrows.

‘Now, this is truly going to be interesting.’ he said sourly. ‘I’ll start the story for you: the fact that you have been at the Cysgodol Palace this evening is connected with the one that Dol Blathanna wishes the… new general of the Pontar Valley to be extradited. Am I right?’

Geralt looked at Saskia, who faced the elven lord without saying a word. Filavandrel gazed back at her, then turned to Geralt.

‘Will you continue the tale, witcher?’ he asked. ‘Why were you there? Who was that woman?’

Geralt saw no point in secrecy. Faintly hoping that Filavandrel would demonstrate that clairvoyance which he was capable of in his better days, he told the story again, as he did to Saskia.

Filavandrel sat in silence for a time after Geralt finished speaking.

‘So, they were not...’ he murmured.

The witcher was confused.

‘Beg your pardon, Filavandrel?’

The elf shook his head, as if trying to push away his thoughts.

‘Nothing, old elf’s babbling.’ His gaze darkened again. ‘It seems, Gwynbleidd, that your lady would not agree with you.’

Geralt hardly could fight back the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at Triss. The sorceress sat rigidly, biting on her lips in frustration.

‘Triss, don’t.’ he said. ‘You are just making everything worse.’

‘I don’t believe it, Geralt.’ she insisted. ‘I don’t care what you think.’

Filavandrel did not wait for another argument to ensue between them.

‘So, if I understand well, regardless of your opinions about your companion, the proof that she wanted to use against Arondir is not to be counted on at the moment.’ he said calmly, but Geralt would have sworn he heard disappointment hiding in his voice. ‘It is a very serious accusation that our ambassador would conspire against Enid an Gleanna… one that should be examined carefully and in an utterly delicate manner.’

_Oh, no, not another political freak show._

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’ Geralt murmured.

Filavandrel gazed at him for a moment, then turned to Saskia.

‘Lady Queen, I would like to assure you that many in Duchess Francesca’s court wish to establish a good connection with your country. In your land, the humans and the nonhumans are equal; this is the same what we, a reasonable minority are trying to aim for, since our duchess allowed the human settlers to move back to their Dol Blathannan lands during the peace treaties of Cintra. Since the death of those murdering bastards, Demavend and Henselt, it has been going surprisingly well… until now.’ He sighed. ‘We cannot allow ourselves more pogroms, more insane human kings and nobles… another failed attempt to finally establish the peace between the races.’

Geralt jerked his head up.

_Another failed attempt? What is he talking about?_

Yet Filavandrel did not care about him, he continued to talk to Saskia.

‘At the moment, it might seem that Arondir’s faction is stronger. I do not know what their ultimate purpose would be, but for some mysterious reason, they want to strengthen the bonds with Nilfgaard… which are already too strong for my liking.’

Suddenly, Triss lifted her head.

‘Do not worry, Your Excellency.’ she said. ‘I will find our disappeared companion and bring those letters to you.’

‘Triss!’ Geralt gulped back a rather foul curse, but Filavandrel did not mind him.

‘You say so, _daerienn?_ ’ he gazed at Triss thoughtfully, then turned back at Saskia.

‘I desire with all my heart that an alliance between our countries be created.’ he continued. ‘Yet without proper proof and the person whose extradition currently burdens our dawning relationships, I cannot promise anything. Unfortunately, I am in the minority in Francesca’s court right now, and I cannot do much… but that could be changed.’

‘And what does your duchess say about all this, Your Excellency?’ Saskia asked.

‘Without our own military forces, we can only rely on the Nilfgaardian troops.’ Filavandrel sighed. ‘Right now, Lady Francesca cannot openly support anyone who is not in their favor.’

‘That happens if you send your young and strong to be butchered.’ Geralt remarked dryly. ‘Now you realize how high a price have you paid to the emperor for helping him in the last war? And for what, for a piece of land?’

Filavandrel finally looked at him.

‘You and I, witcher, both know that sometimes the best choice is the lesser evil. As much as we both hate it.’ he said and deep, ancient sorrow gleamed in his black eyes. ‘Francesca’s purposes are the same as mine: to give homeland to our people. Had she decided against the emperor’s conditions, that would have meant instant and unavoidable suicide to our race. I did not understand this back then, either. This is why she is our sovereign and not me.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘But now… times are changing. We have our chance to create an alliance, to secure the independence of our lands… and bring our children home.’

Geralt remembered the noblewoman at the palace.

‘Does this new vision have anything to do with the Queen of Lyria?’

Filavandrel’s smile was telling, but his handwave was a motion of rejection.

‘I cannot speak of that now.’ he answered, and nodded to Saskia. ‘First, I have to know if there would be any hope of cooperation with your country, Your Majesty.’

Geralt noticed that this was the first time the elf lord respected Saskia with the appropriate title.

‘What would you like us to do, Your Excellency?’ Saskia asked. ‘I am faced with different needs from you and your countryman. I do not know which of you should I respond to, which of you represent your sovereign, with whom I can negotiate?’

Filavandrel nodded.

‘Your words speak of your circumspect knowledge, Your Majesty.’ he answered. ‘Right now, I have no answer for you for that question, but if you are willing to help me, maybe I can give a positive reply.’

‘What would you have us do?’

The old elf leaned on the table, looking at them with a piercing gaze.

‘If you get the correspondence and Iorveth here, I can promise a truthful and fair trial. If Arondir steps down, then we can arrange the steps for a further cooperation.’

Geralt scoffed.

‘That means you use us to get rid of your greatest political rival. But what happens to Iorveth? What can he expect from your judgement?’

Filavandrel slowly shook his head, his voice was compassionate.

‘Witcher, I know that he is your friend, and he has been a crucial asset in winning Vergen’s independence, but you must not forget that he is also a murderer and a terrorist... even if we dismiss the current accusations and those of the Nilfgaardian Empire. The only thing I can promise is a fair trial. He can decide if he submits himself to my judgement.’ he said.

'Will Arondir accept your role as a judge, Your Excellency?' Saskia asked.

Filavandrel drew himself up, his voice was sour.

'I have been a ruler to the Dol Blathannan elves for two centuries. I may have resigned, but I'd like to see Arondir try to question my authority. As for Iorveth...' He lowered his head and sorrow flew across his proud face. ‘There comes a time when you will have enough of the hiding in the woods and emerge to face your fate and stand by your honor. I know that from first hand. We shall see if the Woodland Fox is ready for that.’

He stood up and put his cloak back on.

‘We do not have much time. If the letters and the Scoia’tael commander is not here within three weeks, I shall leave the town, the same way as I came. I would be utterly grateful if my presence would stay a secret until then.’ he said.

Saskia nodded without an answer. Filavandrel bowed to her, nodded to Geralt, then his gaze remained at Triss for a few moments; he greeted her with a bow as well, then he turned and left the room.

‘Well… shit.’ Geralt said, breaking the silence that followed Filavandrel’s leave. ‘I am slightly tempted to go to Arondir, tell him everything, grab a reward, then go and tend to my own business at last.’

‘Poor witcher.’ Saskia remarked with a hint of sarcasm. Triss hid her light chuckle.

Geralt looked at her, annoyed.

‘All right, all right, we are off to find that scoundrel, again. I might change these rags, though.’

Triss stood up, laughter disappearing from her face.

‘Do what you want, Geralt. I’m going to find Ildico.’

The witcher stared at her. He could not hold back his anger anymore.

‘Triss, stop this at once!’ he snarled. ‘She can stay wherever she is, we cannot even know if that correspondence was a lie! We must bring back Iorveth at least, let those elven bastards be happy and let Saskia be at peace in her kingdom, at least for a while.’

Triss angrily waved.

‘Geralt, you cannot do this! She is a friend, you do not leave behind your friends!’

The witcher lost the last of his patience.

‘That is your lot, isn’t it?’ he spat.

He immediately regretted what he said, but it was too late. Pain flew across Triss’s face, her eyes filled with tears again.

_Oh, fuck._

‘Look, Triss, I didn’t mean it.’ Geralt touched her shoulder, trying to be comforting. ‘But we have to look at the realistic possibilities. It was a nice adventure, but you must see that the endgame is starting to get a bit dark for high hopes.’

Triss bit on her lip.

‘I will find Ildico.’

Geralt rolled his eyes.

‘One of my biggest mistakes in my life that I let her play on with this tragic backstory-bullshit.’ he said irately. ‘Face it, Triss - your _dear friend_ is possibly miles away now; I don’t know what she wanted but she clearly got it and doesn’t need us anymore.’

‘I see you do not see eye to eye, but if I may interrupt, our problem does not concern Miss Ferenczy… at least for now.’ Saskia said quickly. ‘What we can do now is to try and find Iorveth and persuade him to come back to Vergen. He might even stand a better chance with Lord Filavandrel as his judge.’

‘He doesn’t, Saskia.’ said Geralt quietly. ‘You know just as well as I do.’

Saskia shook her head.

‘He has a chance to win his redemption, to stand up for something he might call a home.’

Geralt’s face darkened.

‘You know my opinion on the matter - no ideal is worth giving your life for.’ he said. ‘And I truly doubt that Iorveth wants to do that for Dol Blathanna.’

‘Not for Dol Blathanna.’ Saskia said. ‘For Vergen.’

‘Would you truly expect him to do so?’ Geralt asked.

Saskia lifted her head.

‘Geralt, I told you already when you saved me - Iorveth is not someone to be used.’ she said. ‘He came to share my cause, he came to fight for me, he stood beside us in our hours of need, all by of his own decision. I do not want him to sacrifice himself for something he does not believe in. He can decide. I only ask you that you find him.’

Geralt buried his face in his palm.

‘That woman managed to create a huge ass problem from only a relatively big one.’ he murmured. ‘And to think about that I compared her once to Philippa Eilhart… she could easily qualify as a member of the Lodge.’

‘She is innocent, Geralt!’ Triss exclaimed vehemently. ‘We must find her, I know that she can help Iorveth. I know she will!’

‘Then why is she not here, Triss? Why?’

The sorceress wringed her hands in confusion.

‘I don’t know… we never saw her after they disappeared in the gardens, something must have happened to her!’

Geralt buried his face in his hand.

‘Triss, you are so naive that it makes my head hurt.’ he said ruthlessly. ‘You are either going to stop this and help me find Iorveth, or… ‘

Triss looked at him with deep sorrow yet growing determination in her eyes.

‘Or what, witcher?’ she asked, and her voice was firm.

Geralt watched her for a few moments, then turned away from Triss without a word. He bowed to Saskia.

‘I cannot promise anything.’ he said. ‘But I’ll try to bring back Iorveth.’

Saskia nodded.

‘May fortune go with you, witcher.’ she said.

Geralt nodded again, and, without looking at Triss, he turned around and left the room.

The sorceress lowered her head, wiping away her tears. Saskia walked up to her and gently put her hand on Triss’s shoulder.

‘You let him go, sorceress.’ she said, softly. ‘Are you this sure about your friend’s honesty?’

Triss gulped, her voice trembled with sobbing.

‘I couldn’t be more certain. I know her well.’ she whispered. ‘But even if I wouldn’t…’ She turned to the other woman resolutely. ‘Ildi loves Iorveth.’

The queen seemed confused.

‘Does she? A human loves an elf?’ she asked. ‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve watched them. Only a fool wouldn’t have seen it.’ Triss smiled sadly, then looked in the direction of the door. ‘Or a man.’

An involuntary chuckle left their lips, then Saskia looked at Triss inquiringly.

‘And Iorveth?’ she asked. ‘Does he care for her as well?’

‘There is… something.’ Triss answered, hesitating. ‘I don’t know elves well enough to read their gestures or thoughts, but Ildico would do anything for Iorveth, I know. And I fear for her. She should have met with us, she should be here. Something must have happened to her.’

Saskia nodded.

‘If you trust her after all this, I will not keep you. Go, Miss Merigold. Go and find your friend.’

Triss bowed.

‘You can be damn sure I will.’

_I am the "Fourteenth of the Hill"! I am not a little frightened girl from a dark Maribor Tower anymore.*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daerienn - sorceress  
> *Quotation from Blood of Elves by Andrzej Sapkowski


	25. A half managed escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited and proofread by TwilightFalls. Thank you!

_The girl wept as she curled up on the chair._

_The elf gently wiped away the blood from her face, carefully touching the bruise under her eye._

_‘Why do you keep arguing with him?’ he asked, but contrary to his movements, his voice was toneless. ‘You should not do that, little sor’ca.’_

_‘If you really thought I was your sister, you would not allow this.’ she mumbled._

_‘And if you really would be a friend to nonhumans, as you say, you would know your place. You were meant to be an atonement. Atonement only knows humility.’_

_‘I was meant to be peace.’ she sobbed._

_The elf caressed her face gently. He wiped the rolling tears off with the cloth._

_‘You are merely a child, my little one… what can you know about things like peace and war?’ She kept weeping._

_‘I want peace… father wants peace, but I never knew that this is how it would be…’’_

_‘Come on.’ He lifted her chin with a finger. ‘Do you really want peace? Do you want us to be free?’_

_She bit on her lip, and nodded._

_‘Then be good and be obedient.’ he said. ‘I shall give you concealer, and you can hide this bruise on your face. You do not want your father to be frightened, do you?’_

_The girl sniffed, with eyes closed._

_‘Do you want your father to be angry at us?’ the elf asked, and brushed her tangled hair from her face with a gentle movement._

_‘No.’ she whispered._

_He stroked her hair._

_‘Then do as I say.’_

* * *

 

The orchestra started to play a strangely familiar melody in the distance. I recognized it after a few heartbeats - it was the same tune Iorveth played on his flute, on that first day, in the forest of Flotsam. In a much more modest pace, more suitable for dancing, but it was undeniably the same.

It seemed that this tune would always bring danger.

Chulainn sensed my discomfort as we walked along the darkened corridors.

‘Do not test my patience, Angelika.’ he murmured. ‘I’ve already made more allowances than I should have.’

I had no inclination to look grateful.

‘You would have never let Iorveth go if he had been an essential part of your plan.’

‘He was. But plans change and now that I have you, he became a disposable asset.’ He turned to me. ‘You have bought him a few months, whatever that may mean to you.’

 _And I am the one to cause his final downfall_.

‘I guess you managed to establish good connections with Morquend & Ferenczy, if they gave you their invitations.’ Chulainn remarked suddenly.

Not for the first time during the evening, my heart nearly stopped. I almost forgot about Saeros and Miklos. Luckily, thanks to Miklos’s sense of foreboding, at that time they were probably long gone from Vengerberg.

Yet I did not know how far this bastard could reach.

‘I stole it from them.’ I murmured.

Chulainn looked at me with genuine surprise.

‘Stole it?’ he asked back. ‘You lie.’

_Of course I lie._

‘Why would I do that?’ I asked back, tonelessly.

A flicker of smile ran through his face which made me shiver.

‘Amusing, as always, Angelika.’

As anger rose in my chest, I had to remind myself to stay calm, it was definitely no time to panic. My life was at stake, my benefactors at threat and Iorveth…

_They will not have you._

_Neither of you._

There was no time to lose.

The corridor seemed to lead into another time, another space as we were walking away from the festivity noises. The lights slowly died, there were but a few torches lighting the corridor, and no guards at all - they were probably stationed in the garden or in the big auditorium.

We walked past a room with open door and I saw its window was open.

_Here is my chance._

I quickly looked around - there were no little boxes or statuettes within reach, and I was not strong enough to simply knock Chulainn out. I had to resort to the old, common ‘let’s pretend to be sick’ - trick.

I stopped and pressed my hand to my stomach, groaning with imaginary pain, coughing a little - that at least I did not have to act.

‘What?’ Chulainn stopped as well and turned to me. ‘What is wrong?’

‘I… don’t know… I…’ I tried very hard to pretend like I was truly suffering. He came up to me and helpfully put his hand on my shoulder.

‘It must have been a hard night. ‘he said. ‘I’ll send you some medicines once you’ll get comfortable.’

I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. I couldn’t believe he had bought my miserable comedy… but at the same time, I remembered that it was probably his old instinct. I was his protégé, who had to be taken care of when his master was not around. He always had these moments, when, for a heartbeat, he made me believe that he cared for me, at least a little. But I learned years ago that it was not true.

_And even if it was true, it was worth nothing._

As he touched my shoulder, I gripped on his wrist, and pushed him through the opened door. He quickly regained his balance, but I still had time to jump after him into the room, grab a silver candlestick from a table and evade his counterattack.

He clutched at his lower arm where I hit him with the candlestick, his face turned into a feral mask of a wild animal as I positioned myself toward the window and the moonlight covered his features.

‘A true dh’oine.’ he snarled. ‘The word you have given counts for nothing!’

He ran at me, and again, I hit at him with the candlestick, this time scratching over his face and right shoulder. Had I not been fighting for my life, I surely would have laughed in his face.

‘Warfare is based on deception!’ I hissed back.

With an abrupt movement, he got hold of my wrist, squeezing until the candlestick dropped out of my hand, and clenched his arm around my neck. I gasped. He was very strong.

_But not as strong as Iorveth._

‘We fight for our freedom!’ he barked as he tried to push me back to the door, but I managed to take a turn and use his own weight to advance us to the opened window. I felt the sill pressing at my tight.

I had no other choice.

‘So do I.’ I growled back and tripped him up. He lost his balance, but did not let me go as I pushed myself out the window, dragging him with me.

* * *

 

I emerged from the water, catching my breath. I floundered to the shore and for some minutes, there was only one thing occupying my thoughts: how fucking cold the water was.

As my mind slowly cleared, I looked around, searching for Chulainn - and I nearly vomited.

He wasn’t as lucky as me. He lay on the rocks next to the palace wall, his limbs flaccid, his neck in an eerily twisted position. A small trail of blood ran from the corner of his lips. He probably died at the very moment he hit the rocks, as his neck broke.

_The proud Aen Seidhe, dying like a dog._

I relived every suffering this elf had caused me. Once, there was only one person I wanted dead more than Chulainn. Yet as I stared at his limp body, all I could feel was pity. Another death in vain, an excess price for the madness he and Arondir had been planning for years. An invasion. To conquer; to expand their country. To win back the lands of the elves. To reignite the spirit of Aelirenn, the elven shieldmaiden who led her people to a rebellion two centuries ago; and who, to the elders of the elves, barely was better than the despised dh’oine, because they foretold that her cause would be lost and many would die if she pursues her dream. She didn’t listen to them and her army was massacred, yet her legend never died, there were still many who would have followed her trail if they could. Like Arondir and Chulainn.

They were ready for everything, to cheat the ones who wished peace with them, to lie to their own kinsmen, even to sacrifice their own, and they were not alone in their desperation.

But what was Iorveth ready to do for his kin?

_What am I ready to do to help him?_

I did not know the answers back then. The only thing I knew that I had to find him, but for that, I had to get out of the palace through the only remaining way.

By swimming. Yes. 

* * *

 

By the time I reached the opposite bank of the lake, I probably depleted my complete set of curses at least ten times. Swimming did not really help, the water was cold as an ice pit, and I felt the chill to the bone as I dragged myself out to the shore in my wet clothing. I started to cough and a blast of pain ran through my chest. I touched my throat, frightened.

_Oh, no, do I really have to catch a cold just now?_

I coughed again, and grabbed myself out of the water, stone by stone, grass hassock by grass hassock, boot by boot…

_What?_

At first I did not want to believe my eyes, but indeed, I was grabbing on someone’s boot. Someone who obviously noticed that someone grabbed his boot.

‘Well, well, well. What have we here?’

The voice of the man was deep and icy. As I looked up at his figure, I saw his fair features, a scar on his face, his gleaming almond-shaped eye, his pointed ears… and the knife he was aiming at me.

‘Iorveth!’ I cried out, just to realize a moment later the elf could not be him.

He had both his eyes.

His face froze for a moment in surprise at my outcry, just for enough time for me to grab  a sharp stone on the shore and get on my feet.

He quickly regained his stance; his eyes again filled with a wild animal’s expression and ran at me.

I knew this attack and quickly bent down to dodge his knife. I was not fast enough to hit him with the stone, but he got a few drops of unwanted water from my robe’s sleeves into his eyes. He growled and jumped after me, which I evaded with a much less dainty parry - but I managed to stay alive.

‘Where did you learn that one, dh’oine?’ he hissed at me as he stepped back.

_From an elf and a dwarf, in hidden alleys._

‘Here and there.’ I shrugged, and evaded another attack.

I don’t know why I confused him with Iorveth. He was taller, had light brown, almost blonde, shoulder-long hair, his eyes blue; and a huge, distorting scar ran across his face, ripping up the left corner of his mouth from his teeth, so his features were eternally stuck in an intimidating grimace.

Not that his expression would have been so gentle at that moment, when he tried to strike at me again.

I dodged his attack, but felt my movements slowing down; the last hours had left their mark on me. I did not want to kill him, but I did not want to get killed by an elf when I just escaped another.

When he prepared for another slash, I pushed his wrist away with a sudden movement, then I threw myself at him. My calculation was right, I managed to push him off his feet, his scent of sweat and dirt surrounded me as we rolled on the hillside. I pushed him down on the ground, straddling him and lifting the sharp stone in my hand to strike down on him - and at that moment, I felt the tip of his dagger at my stomach.

We stared at each other for a couple of moments, still panting from the fight. I didn’t move, neither did he. Of course - it was obvious that should one of us deliver the final blow, the other would still have enough strength to return their own.

_Marvellous, we’ll kill each other._

‘We are in kind of a stalemate, don’t you think?’ I asked him, still wheezing.

The ferocious expression on his face slowly subsided as he realized I had no intention to trick him.

As far as I could tell it, he was approximately the same age as Iorveth. He did not resemble him, not even a bit, but I could see why I mistook the mysterious stranger for him. He had the same sleeping pain in his gaze, a light that reflects the death of many of his kin, the misery of his people. Still, his expression was sharp, resolute, a face of an elf who was used to giving orders; with tanned and scratched skin, like someone who has been living in the wilderness for long.

_Another Scoia’tael?_

He was the first to speak.

‘Why did you call me Iorveth?’

I hoped my voice would not tremble.

‘I mistook you for him at first. The water was chilly, and I am tired. Sorry.’

He smirked.

‘Didn’t like the party?’ he asked.

I shrugged a little.

‘Not really. The punch went dry too soon.’

Suddenly, pain struck in my chest again, my stomach turned and I gulped to hold back my cough.

‘Please… can we put this off a little?’ I groaned. ‘Can’t say I’m well.’

His lip curled into a small sneer, but then he nodded, not saying a word.

I didn’t even wait for him to take away his knife. I let go of the stone I was holding and stood up, stumbling up to a tree, coughing and vomiting at the same time.

‘I see the canapés were not to your liking, either.’ his voice sounded amused, as he walked to me and leaned against the tree, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

‘Very funny.’ I gulped up between two cramps. With the taste of sick in my mouth, I collapsed next to the tree, keeping my hand on my aching chest, fighting back another coughing fit. I could not let that happen, not now. With my eyes still closed, I heard the elf stepping closer, then squatting down next to me.

‘You are either very brave or not really bright, little dh’oine.’ he said. ‘I could use my knife whenever I like.’

‘Please, good elf, could we skip the pleasantries?’ I gasped, still not opening my eye. ‘If you wanted to kill me, you could have done it when you saw me floundering on the shore, half-conscious. Or just a moment ago, when I gave my guts back to nature.

‘True indeed, dh’oine, I do not want to kill you at the moment.’ I heard his answer. ‘But my final intention depends on your cooperation.’

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

‘Would not spoil your fun for the world, elf, but we pulled up a draw a few minutes ago. You might have a hard time with me.’

His smile was cheeky and boyish, but there was a threatening gleam in his eyes.

‘Would not crumble your confidence for the world, lassie, but I’m guessing you just puked a considerable amount of your stamina up. I might have a hard time with you… but I would get you.’

I did not have the spirit to protest. He probably was right anyway.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked instead.

He raised his eyebrow in surprise.

‘Are we this friendly now, little dh’oine?’

‘I cannot just refer to you as “hey, elf”.’

A small smile appeared on his face.

‘All right.’ he nodded. ‘If you want a name, you may call me Wolf.’

I looked back at him.

‘This is not your real name.’

He smiled again.

‘What is the problem? Neither will be the name you give me.’

I was surprised to feel the shadow of a smile on my face as well.

‘True.’ I said. ‘Call me… Skylark.’

‘I see, Skylark.’ He nodded. ‘Let’s talk then.’

I pushed myself up to standing position.

‘Can we do that while walking? See, I really have to meet someone a few glades away.’

‘What a coincidence!’ he gasped in mock surprise. ‘See, I am waiting for someone, and I intend to stay here until he arrives.’

I coughed again, then stepped away from the tree. He was indeed an amusing fellow, but he obviously was not around to sightsee. I learned long ago: it is not wise to get involved in the shady dealings of others. Besides, I had my own, very urgent things to do.

‘Well, I am truly sorry, kind Wolf, but I do not. Nice chat, though. Take care!’

Not waiting for his answer, I turned away and started off. I had a long way to walk if I wanted to get to the glade before the Scoia’tael would leave it.

As I could have known, I didn’t get very far. In an instant, I felt a cold blade pressing to my neck.

‘Steady, steady, Skylark.’ The elf said as he walked up to me, holding the knife edge to my skin. ‘If you answer my questions honestly, I will let you go and you can get to your secret lover in a blink of an eye.’

‘Let me go!’ I hissed. ‘This is more important than some stupid rendezvous in the moonlight!’

His face sharpened, and he did not let go of the blade.

‘You are not going anywhere, dh’oine.’ he whispered. 

Now I was starting to get angry.

‘Oh, really?’ I leaned back and bent my knee to dodge his knife and took a turn to run, but my reflexes failed me. I felt his hand grabbing my arm, and in the next moment, the world darkened and I fell into silence.


	26. Cover my eyes, cover my ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my heartfelt thanks to TwilightFalls for editing and proofreading.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the warmth.

It was still dark, no light of dawn was yet seen on the horizon. I lay next to a stone wall, in a cornered hollow, still wearing my ruined party dress, but a worn cloak covered my body, at least.  A small fire flickered next to me, and next to the fire - the elf sat.

Before anyone of us could say anything, I again felt a spasm hitting behind my ribs and I curled up. I made a mumbling sound - my mouth tasted as if a horse had died in it.

‘Still not feeling better?’ I heard the elf’s voice.

I lay my head on the ground.

‘People usually do not feel good after being knocked out.’ I murmured.

‘Little Skylark, I certainly would have knocked you out if I had had to, but you spared me the trouble when you fainted.’

_Well, that at least explains why my head does not hurt._

I raised myself up on my elbow and looked at Wolf.

‘Well… thanks for the cloak, then.’

He stirred the embers with a long stick.

‘Don’t mention it. I could not talk to you if you’d frozen to death.’

I had to strain my mind for a moment as I remembered the events of the night. I gasped as I thought of Iorveth. I did not know for how long had I been unconscious. Had the elves already left? Had it been discovered in the castle what happened to Chulainn? I could only hope it was not too late.  But first of all, I had to get rid of my strange new companion.

‘All right.’ I said as I slowly set up, rolling the cloak around me. The thick material and the warmth of the fire made the feeling of my damp clothes slightly more bearable. ‘Let’s talk then, good Wolf. I’m kind of in a hurry.’

His blue eyes searched my face.

‘How do you know Iorveth, Skylark?’ he asked.

I clutched on the cloak tightly, thinking of the Scoia’tael commander. Being in his arms, his kisses. Then the hatred on his face when I was forced to betray him.

‘I am his friend.’ I whispered.

Wolf looked at me with an impish gleam in his eyes.

‘Well, I, as well, had some dh’oine acquaintances whom I did not want to strangle so much as the others.’ he chuckled. ‘Tell me, does he consider you a friend as well?’

_He certainly is perceptive, damn it._

‘Well… At the moment?’ I muttered.

A wide grin appeared on Wolf’s face, he obviously was having a very good time.

‘Things went south, didn’t they?’ he laughed and put another tree log on the fire.

I watched his movements.

‘How do you know him?’ I asked.

He stared into the fire, the flames danced in his eyes.

‘We were brothers-in-arms... for a time. Yeah, I could also say I am his friend. ’ he answered and turned his piercing gaze at me again. ‘The difference between you and me is that I am still on his good side, as far as I know.’

His manner was challenging, but I didn’t let myself to be angered. I had to go. I had to save Iorveth, to signal Triss and Geralt, to inform my caregivers. Yet the only name the elf possibly would have been affected by was the one of the Scoia’tael commander.

_Let’s hope they are really that good friends._

‘He is in danger.’

Wolf jerked his head up, his face darkened.

‘What are you saying?’

‘He is in danger, as many with him are.’ I repeated. ‘Wolf, you have to let me go, I have to warn him!’

He leaned forward.

‘Now I am truly curious what you were doing in that palace.’

‘Will you tell me why are you here?’ I asked back.

He seemed a little surprised.

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, I will not tell you why am I here either.’ I shrugged. ‘We had a plan, it didn’t work out, we had to divide. I have to go after Iorveth, warn him that he is in danger!’

His face grew heavy with confusion as he clicked together in his mind what he heard, and obviously tried to decide where he should start the questioning.

‘All right, Skylark, let me get this straight.’ he said. ‘Iorveth and you were together on a quest?’

‘M-hm.’

‘Let’s say I believe you. So, are you sure that he is somewhere near?’

‘Why are you so interested?’

He looked at me with a grim expression. I knew that face from experience - he was thinking about how much he could tell me.

‘Because he is the one I have been waiting for.’ he replied. ‘So far, in vain.’

Bitter laughter tickled my throat. _Did Iorveth also have his little ways?_

‘Did you agree to meet?’ I asked. ‘How did you know that you would find him here?’

Wolf sneered at me.

‘You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?’ he said. ‘It’s enough for you to know that I made my presence known to him. He should have noticed that I am here…’ His face was shadowed, his voice became unsettled. ‘And he should have come.’

I let out a desperate breath, whispering Iorveth’s name.

‘Wolf, come with me.’ I said with a sudden decision. ‘With any luck, we can still find them in their camp. You can talk to him and I can see to that he would be safe!’

He examined me thoughtfully.

‘Besides the fact that the word “safe” and Iorveth hardly could be used together in a positively predicative sentence, I am honestly surprised that a dh’oine would care for his safety at all.’ he said.

I immediately felt my face blushing - fortunately or not, another coughing fit was a good excuse to hide behind my hands.

‘It’s a long story.’ I murmured.

He snorted, then with a sudden forward motion, he sat up and started to drizzle soil on the fire with his hands.

‘Help me with this, we must put out the fire.’ he waved. ‘Then let’s go. But I warn you, Skylark…’

‘I know, I know.’ I said as I stood up to aid him. ‘Honey and anthill will happen to my face, in that order.’

He stopped for a moment, looking at me with narrowed eyes.

‘Unfortunately I lack the resources for that. You will have to content yourself with a comfortable throat-slitting.’

I knew he meant it but I was too tired and desperate to be frightened.

‘Magnificent.’ I stood up as the last embers finally died out. ‘Can we hurry up at last?’

* * *

We arrived at dawn. As I feared, the glade was already empty. Not a single sign showed that we camped here last night, how we danced, even the fireplace was cleared. Just a green glade at the gate of winter, undisturbed by the living.

For my human eyes, at least.

‘My kinsmen were here.’ Wolf murmured as he scouted around. ‘They have left a few hours ago. No sign of battle.’

I took a deep breath, with a mixture of relief and despair. Iorveth managed to escape - probably still thinking that I betrayed him.

_Not good._

‘What do you think, Wolf?’ I asked the elf. ‘Can you find them?’

He looked around with slight anxiety on his features.

‘Iorveth is one of the best trackers amongst us. Consequently, he is very good at hiding his own traces.’ he growled. ‘I can find him… won’t be easy though. Do you have no idea where he could have gone?’

I slowly shook my head. Iorveth could have gone to Vergen… or not. The way he spoke about Dol Blathanna, there was a good chance that he would not want to clash with Arondir; he could hardly count on a fair treatment from that bastard. On the other hand, it was possible that he would not abandon Saskia… I could not decide and Vergen was too far to go there on a fool’s errand, not without knowing for sure that Iorveth - and the letters with him - would be there.

I coughed again so I had the excuse to sit down and bury my face in my hands.

_I can’t waste more time._

If there was no chance to find Iorveth soon…

I immediately thought of Gulet, the city where Saeros and Miklos were heading to when we left Vengerberg. They had a well established base there; though I never lived to see it as headquarters, I knew that it helped them out more than one times during their long lives.

Of course, such a business like ours could not be moved in a single caravan. I knew all the small spots, dead drops, abandoned ruins used as hideouts and rests. A road that they had taken so many times before… long before even my birth.

_It will be a time before I can visit Marika and the children again._

_The abacus will be of good use for them…_

I felt the urge to cry clenching on my throat.

As he disappeared without any trace, Iorveth was probably safe, at least for now. I did not know where to find him… but I knew where to search for Saeros and Miklos. I owed them more than to anyone. I had to go to them first, see if they would be all right; at any rate, they probably would know more than me. I could not forget about Arondir either; I was so close to get him, but it was not possible to do that without a proof to his treason. The very thought turned my stomach, but if I wanted to help Iorveth, Arondir was the key to it.

_Squass’me, Woodland Fox. The only way I can save you is by abandoning you again._

‘So, shall we?’ Wolf asked.

I folded my arms around myself.

‘As you will, friend.’ I said. ‘I have to go elsewhere.’

‘Elsewhere?’ he repeated. ‘Where?’

I paused.

‘To Gulet.’

His stance slowly changed and his eyes were filled with despise. For the first time during the night, his voice lacked all mockery and impish nuances.

‘You were whining about Iorveth’s safety all night, and now you just turn your back, dh’oine?’

I huffed irately. _How many times do I have to hear this?_ I was not deceived by his manners; there was no doubt he would have killed me in an instance, had he thought it necessary and in my current state, I could not have even the slightest hope to fight him.

I had no choice but to trust that his so-called friendship with Iorveth was stronger than whatever he was planning. I had to do something I rarely ever did: I had to trust him.

‘Ever heard of Vergen, Wolf?’ I asked.

He raised his right eyebrow curiously, though the gleam in his eye told about his familiarity with the subject. He must have heard about Vergen.

‘What’s this, a geography lesson?’ he asked evasively, but I did not let him ease.

‘The dwarven town. Now capital to the Free State of the Pontar Valley, with Queen Saskia on its throne and as Iorveth as its general.’ I said and was not surprised to see no astonishment on his face. He knew about it.

‘Vergen, yes.’ he nodded. ‘But you want to go to Gulet.’

‘Steady, steady, Wolf. I’m not finished yet.’ I sneered at him. ‘One of your kinsmen… a very special gentle-elf, who is currently an ambassador to Duchess Francesca, arrived on a diplomatic mission to Vergen, offering an alliance… but only in case Iorveth would be extradited to them.’

He squatted next to me and leaned forward, listening carefully.

‘His charges could be annulled if he himself would get into a legally impossible situation.’ I continued. ‘So we came here to steal the proof which can get him into such a situation.’

‘And you did not steal it.’ he said.

‘Yes, we did.’ I replied quickly. ‘The evidence is now with Iorveth.’

Wolf looked confused.

‘Then what is the problem exactly?’ he asked.

I gulped, then coughed again.

‘Iorveth probably does not know that the evidence is with him.’ I answered, feeling my face redden.

Wolf opened his arms.

‘Well… wow.’ he said, chuckling edgily. ‘But that still does not explain Gulet.’

 _And now, the difficult part_.

‘There are some of my folk in Gulet who helped us. And that help might cost them.’ I said, tensely. ‘I need to see if they are all right, and I need to know what they know… they might be a few steps ahead of me. Here, out in the wild, alone… I am powerless.’

Wolf examined my face thoroughly, his eyes narrowed.

‘Who are you?’ he asked slowly, his voice hollow.

I felt shiver running down on my spine.

I had too many things to hide, but so had he. His gaze spoke of long, long years, many things seen, many paths taken… many names worn. Many secrets that should be left untouched.

Just like with me.

_Could he be at Kalkar twelve years ago?_

‘Skylark. Nobody.’ I replied. ‘As you are, Wolf.’

After a pause, he nodded.

‘To Gulet, then.’

I stopped for a heartbeat at his exclamation. I could not decide which would have been more dangerous: to go alone or to go with this elf I knew nothing about.

‘You do not have to come with me, Wolf.’ I said. I leaned against a tree to stand up. I felt so weak like I hadn’t slept for a month. ‘You might find Iorveth more easily without me.’

‘My favourite baker happens to reside in Gulet. I so wish to visit him.’

‘Wolf…’

He didn’t wait for my objection.

‘Skylark, once Iorveth is out on the road, no living foe of his shall find him… I know his ways. But I know nothing of you. I know nothing of what do you want.’ he said, and his blue eyes reflected that of a true wolf, cornering its prey. ‘I shall accompany you, learn what can be learned, but mark my words: one wrong move and you are a dead dh’oine.’

I felt my neck stiffen, but I had no choice.

‘Understood.’ I said. ‘Shall we go then?’

He nodded and we set off, leaving the glade behind. I forced myself not to look back at the steep cliff where Iorveth and I stood last night.

As aloof and distrusting he was, Wolf proved to be an entertainingly attentive companion.

As we descended from the mountains, he measured me with sly side glances.

‘We need to get horses.’ he declared. ‘And some dry and clean clothing for you, while we’re at it.’

‘How chivalric of you.’

‘You stink, little Skylark.’ he winked at me and moved forward.

I stood rooted, needing a couple of seconds to find my voice.

‘For a vagabond, you are rather finicky!’ I tossed at him while following his trail.

He didn’t even turn his head.

‘And even my shoes look fine. Come on.’

* * *

 

Wolf said it would be a bad idea to approach the farmer working next to his tiny cottage, but I thought that someone, living lonely out in the wilderness, working for his own living would be more open-minded than a random city thug. I was wrong.

The middle-aged man missed some teeth, his skin was rough and tanned from working continuously outside. His spade also told about frequent use as he shoved it to our faces.

‘Get lost, freaks!’ he shouted. I tried to calm him, lifting my hands.

‘Good man, it’s all right, we only need…’

He didn’t let me finish.

‘Go to hell, you bloody scoundrels, get that filthy nonhuman back to the forest, and you, you whore of an elf, do not dare take a step closer!’

I was at the point where I would raise my voice, but Wolf was not as patient as me. He stepped forward, pushed away the spade, grabbed the man’s hair and slit his throat with a single, clean  cut.

The man fell on his knees, and following some failed attempt to catch breath, he collapsed on the ground, dead. Tiny bubbles emerged and popped in the blood covering his throat.

Wolf didn’t seem to have any trouble as he stepped back, with the knife in his hand.

‘You know, I could have tried to reason with him.’ I said, with little confidence in my voice. Deep inside I knew that it was not true. People of these lands ceased to trust strangers, especially nonhumans, long ago.

Wolf looked at me, being completely aware of the situation.

‘I am accustomed to allow one shot. You gave him that one. He didn’t take it.’ he shrugged. ‘Go, find some clothings in the house, I’ll get horses. We don’t have time to admire the landscape.

Had it not been for a sudden dizziness, I might have argued with him, but the feeling took my spirit away. I walked into the house, found the man’s locker and quickly got dressed - a pair of trousers, a long-sleeve tunic and a vest was enough, definitely not the latest fashion but at least clean and comfortable. Triss probably would have fainted if she had seen me like that... but she was nowhere near.

 _Pray we meet again, my dear friend_.

I piled up my worn dress and noticed some sliced bread and cheese on the table. The man had clearly been preparing for dinner. The sight made me choke up. I turned my head away and left the house.

Wolf was already out there, with two saddled horses.

I picked up the spade from the ground and started to dig a hole to hide the remains of my dress.

‘There’s some food on the table, in the house, if you want it.’ I murmured to the elf. He frowned at me.

‘And? Little Skylark’s hands are too delicate to grab it?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

He stood like he was about to say something, but then he turned and started off to the direction the house. I was just putting back the last clump of soil when he returned from the house.

Wolf tied the food bag to one of the horse’s saddle.

‘Hunger always finds you. And if you are wise, you do not wait until it consumes you.’ he said scornfully. ‘For you, it might have never been a problem, but if one has ever been so hungry that they could have eaten the flesh off their own legs…’

‘All right, all right, I get it.’ I interrupted. I was no mood for a lecture, neither did I want to argue with him. I leaned my head against the other horse’s saddle. I didn’t even notice how hot was my forehead.

‘Want to rest?’ I heard the elf’s voice, a tad bit more gentle now. I gulped and mounted the horse - I did not want him to see that I was unwell.

‘No.’ I answered. ‘Let’s move.’

He nodded, then threw a knife next to the corpse of the farmer. I recognized the pattern of  a black sun on the knife’s grip.

‘A Nilfgaardian dagger?’ I asked.

‘Had a few adventures with the Black Ones in the good old days.‘ Wolf answered while he mounted his horse as well.

I did not object. In the end, it certainly was better if the farmer’s killer would thought to be Nilfgaardian.

* * *

Wolf took my lead without question - in fact, had I not felt so sick all the time, I might have gotten suspicious about it - and we soon arrived to Willowbrook.

The tiny settlement, found approximately forty miles southeast from Gulet, could hardly have been called a village. Usually, ten to fifteen families lived there, they earned their living from farming and pottery, sometimes the wandering merchant even opened the shop, when he passed through the site.

The Songbirds had a long term contract with the man. I knew that his next visit was due in November, so when we arrived at the shop, I was not surprised to find it empty.

The first horror came when I found the door open; whoever left the house, did not lock it up.

_Burglars? Here?_

We quickly scouted around the building, but there was no sign of an intruder. The furniture and the household equipment was perfectly intact - just as it should have been.

And still, something was not right.

I entered one of the inner bedrooms - and noticed a white handkerchief laying on the cabinet next to the bed. I grabbed it.

The small, finely embroidered MF monogram was tainted with already dried brownish stains.

‘Blood.’ Wolf murmured, peaking above my shoulder. ‘Not from a wound though… I guess the owner must have been ill?’

I gripped the cloth. I didn’t answer Wolf, just turned around and walked out from the house. He followed me, with his hood pulled up.

‘Hey, good man!’ I called out to a farmer, who, despite the late hour, was still working in the garden of a neighbouring house. He stood up reluctantly.

‘Whatsup, lassie?’

‘Do you recall anyone visiting the travelling merchant’s house lately?’ I asked and tossed a few orens to him, just to make him a bit more enthusiastic. His face lit up, indeed.

‘Lemme see… yea, a few days ago. Several men and a dwarf. But they dinnot stay too long. The dwarf was very sick, as I recall?’

My heart sunk.

‘And when did they leave?’ I asked. ‘Did they say where would be they going?’

‘Nay.’ the man shook his head and waved at the direction of the forest. ‘They left that way, a week ago, maybe?’

‘Thank you. Melitele watch over you.’ I bid him farewell, and not even waiting for his answer, I turned away and took some steps towards the old forest road that the man showed.

_Just what I feared._

‘So?’ Wolf stepped next to me.

‘My comrades were here. And they possibly continued their way to Gulet, but before that…’ I stuttered and paused for a moment. Then I poked my chin at the dark mass of the mountains, emerging in the dusk. ‘Before that, they headed to the Father’s Pathway.’

‘The Father’s Pathway?’ he asked back, thoughtfully. ‘There is an ancient dwarven burial site there.’

‘I know.’ The soft fabric of the handkerchief caressed my fingers as I gently rubbed the embroidered letters. ‘I need to go there.’

Wolf looked at me, unimpressed.

‘Not a big detour… yet a detour it is.’

‘It is.’ I agreed, and I twisted the kerchief around my hand. ‘But I have to… say goodbye to someone.’

Iorveth told me that for elves, mourning is sacred. Wolf was obviously not happy with my decision, but he nodded and did not oppose me anymore.

* * *

After two hours of riding on abandoned mountain trails, we arrived at the entrance of the dwarven catacombs. From a distance, I could see the small flickers of the funeral flame next to the entrance pillars, showing that a burial took place not long ago.

I unmounted my horse and started off to the entrance.

‘If I might get a moment… I will be back soon.’ I said to Wolf over my shoulder, but his voice stopped me.

‘Before that… I’d like a moment as well.’

He was at me so fast that I was petrified with fear. His eyes gleamed maliciously, his grin made his scarred, sunken face similar to a skull.

‘I cannot figure you out, little Skylark, and that annoys me a lot, you see.’ he hissed. ‘You claim you want to help Iorveth. Then you want to rush to Gulet. And now you take a side tour to visit the grave of a dead dwarf.’

‘I guess the explanation “they are all dear to me” does not satisfy you, does it?’ I asked back while retreating, until I felt the cold touch of stones in my back.

Wolf nearly smiled.

‘Iorveth… dear to you. All right, nice joke, little Skylark, but I need something more specific.’ While not letting my eyes go, he slowly pulled his knife out of his belt and lifted it to hold it to my neck.

‘And I thought we were friends.’ I said sarcastically.

He shrugged.

‘I like you, Skylark, you are a sweet girl. That is why I will allow you two shots instead of one.’ He moved his hand and I felt the edge of the knife at my skin. ‘Who are you? Where are you going exactly? Who is that dwarf whom you want to say farewell to?’

I inhaled deeply, feeling desperation overcome me.

‘It is my whole life you want, Wolf.’ I pressed out, not hoping he would be moved. Indeed, he wasn’t.

‘One more shot, my dear. I’m listening.’

I felt my knees shaking. I always managed to get out of such situations, but now, I was stuck in the ratter. I couldn’t let him kill me. I had to go to Gulet. I had to help Iorveth.

Yet as I opened my mouth, I felt the dizziness came upon me stronger than ever and fever ran over my mind.  

‘His name is… Miklos.’ I said, not even listening to my own words. ‘The dwarf’s name was Miklos Ferenczy.’

Wolf stared at me for a moment, and I felt him slowly pulling back his arm. I did not understand his sudden softening - I answered only one of his questions, after all.

‘Do you know him?’ I asked, as he backed away, putting away his knife. He watched me thoughtfully and a solemn sadness appeared on his face, an expression I’ve never seen on him.

He tilted his head towards the entrance.

‘Go inside, bid your farewell.’ he said. ‘Then, we will talk.’

_So he knows… knew Miklos._

I looked into his darkened eyes. His previously bold stance broke down, there was nothing but loneliness and abandonment  in his features.

And suddenly, I remembered who he was.

_Colonel Isengrim of the House Faoiltiarna, later known as Iron Wolf, the notorious Scoia’tael commander, whose hopes for elven freedom were shattered twice: once by the Nilfgaardian Empire and once by a human girl._

I didn’t see the same recognition in his eyes, but I knew it would only take some words and he would know… it would be a sight to remember.

 _Later_.

‘I’ll be back soon, Wolf.’ I pushed myself away from the stone wall.

He nodded and I stumbled into the gloom of the crypt.

The candles and nightlights, which were usually lit during a burial of a dwarf, still burned, so it wasn’t so dark as I expected. I walked through several stone chambers, the coldness of the air soothing my burning face. There were some sarcophages from old times, for the high-ranking and royal dead, but most of the corpses lay in the burial compartments, constructed next to the walls, covered with simple white or ornamentally embroidered shrouds; some so old that even the fabric had disintegrated.

And there was the newest.

He was covered with his favourite, dark red velvet blanket; I gulped back my sad laughter, knowing that how many times he said he wanted to be buried in that thing, he wouldn’t care about the curse of his ancestors. His men respected his wish.

I sat down on the edge of his stone chamber and gently pulled back the blanket from his face.

The signs of decomposition were hardly noticeable; his eyes and face was sunken and his skin was darker than in his life, but aside that, he seemed like he would have been sleeping. His usual little smile still hid beneath his lips. I reached out and caressed his face. It was cold, even colder than the stone.

I knew that he was sick, for a long time. His accident broke his body, we knew he would never fully heal and in time, the injuries would take him. The journey, the trials must have been too much to him.

_It could have been avoided if I hadn’t started this madness._

I grasped at his handkerchief again. He always had it with him, to hide the small drops of blood when he coughed. I hid it back in his right hand. He never wanted to leave that handkerchief behind. Our men must have buried him in a hurry and probably forgot about it.

I watched him as he slept his infinite sleep.

_I couldn’t even say goodbye._

* * *

_‘For Melitele’s shining ass, what is going on?’ Miklos stormed into the study, just to stop dead. Saeros stood in the middle of the room, pale. The girl lay on the ground, unconscious, still holding the handle of a knife._

_‘She attacked me, I had to knock her out.’ the elf murmured. ‘We should get rid of her, Miklos. She means only danger.’_

_The dwarf slowly walked up to the girl, kneeling down next to her. He put his hand on her forehead, then looked at her shirt, lightly speckled with dark spots._

_‘She’s feverish.’ he said. ‘And her wounds are probably infected. Take her back to her room!’_

_‘I’ll take her directly to the carcass pit!’ Saeros spat. ‘Do you want to sit and wait until she gets strong enough to alarm the guards and betray us?’_

_The dwarf rolled his eyes._

_‘Now you talk like anyone from your idiotic Dol Blathannan kinship. Like you would have never been to a battle? What do you do with the delirious in field hospitals? Get some sedatives and drug her. She shouldn’t get out of that bed for a few weeks, anyway.’_

_Saeros didn’t move. He looked back at the dwarf, his face darkened._

_‘Why do you hesitate?’ he asked. ‘You have cut many throats without a hint of remorse. No one would search for her.’_

_‘I know your impulsive nature, darling.’ Miklos sneered. ‘Why didn’t you kill her with that same knife?’_

_The elf looked down on the lifeless body, bitterness on his features._

_‘I was raised in cities, we were fed with the hatred of the dh’oine, but I saw many times how my kinsmen lynched innocent humans without  a second thought.’ he murmured. ‘And now her. Why… why did they do this to her?’_

_Miklos gently caressed the girl’s face. She flinched in her feverish dream and moaned in pain, her head tilted sideways._

_Saeros heaved._

_‘For the love of Dana Méadbh, she is hardly more than a child! I can’t… I just can’t.’_

_Miklos grabbed the knife._

_‘I’ll take this back to the kitchen.’ he chuckled sourly. ‘You take her back to her room. Let’s wait if she survives at all. If not, well, the matter is settled. If she lives…’_

_The unspoken lingered between them. Finally, Saeros nodded._

_‘All right. We’ll see then.’_

* * *

Finally I felt tears running down on my face.

‘Forgive me, _adar_ …’ I whispered. ‘I broke the queen… I broke the queen!’

Weeping broke out from my chest like a storm, but to my fear, it brought a wave of unbearable pain. My sobbing turned into a hard coughing fit, I recoiled and pressed my hand on my throat, suddenly feeling something warm flowing down on my chin, down on my hands and my chest and in a moment, my mouth was full with the salt of my tears and the metallic taste of my own blood.

‘Wolf…’ I shrieked out. ‘Isengrim…!’

I fell on the cold ground, cringing, my coughing did not stop. Faces flashed before me as my sight darkened; finally, the face of an elf remained, with one eye, fear and hatred on his face.

‘Iorveth… your quiver!’ I tried to cry out, but his expression was stone cold.

‘Iorveth!’ I shouted at the ghostly figure again.

He did not hear me, and his face dissolved into a haze of particles running in front of my eyes.

I heard running footsteps and felt a gentle touch on my arm. Then nothing.

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt it was time to include a map for you, guys, because we are starting to jump here and there in the Northern Kingdoms, don't want to get you confused. The base of the map was the Orteliusa version, I included my invented places.
> 
> It's been a long time... Do you wonder what Iorveth is up to?


	27. Back to the woods

_She arches against him, her agile body shivers under his touch. She puts her arms around him with a gentle moan as he enters her and once again, they become one, moving together, kissing... her fingers in my hair, I can’t get enough of her, she is mine and I am hers - and the heat of her body turns into a mass of frozen ice, I am so cold, I am embracing a skeleton, gods, gods, don’t let it happen, I am losing her..._

Iorveth woke up with a gasp.  

He lay on his bedroll with eyes closed, forcing a disciplined breathing pace on himself. Soon his heartbeats calmed, he felt his body relax. Emptiness filled his heart. And then, the waves of hatred, as usual.

After they set out into the wilderness from the Dol Blathannan border again and the first shock of betrayal started to fade, he fell into thinking. Ildico’s slender figure next to that elf… He remembered the feeling when he noticed her: something was off. Her gaze was so helpless, so desperate… but that bastard stood next to her and she did not seem perplexed by him. And she pointed right at Iorveth. He was on the brink of jumping, to run, to save her, but that movement immediately stopped him and forced him to run.

Yet the sense of uncertainty didn’t let him go. That whole scene was… too composed, too predictable. Iorveth was never the person who solely relied on his instincts, but that was exactly what he did in the palace garden.

_Maybe she didn’t want to expose me?_

_Maybe she wanted something else?_

When he got there in thinking, he always scolded himself for such naivety.

_What else she would have wanted? Why did I even trust her when her first act was to leave us behind in Vergen?_

Still, he was thankful for that tiny amount of common sense he still had, when he did not let himself to be dragged of by his first wrath and order his elves to kill any Songbird on sight. If they could get in contact with them, maybe finally they could learn what was going on.

_And if they do not sing willfully, I will make them chirp._

However, the days passed and as they moved south, they did not meet any of the Songbirds at the usual spots. Iorveth sent messages to all of the remaining Scoia’tael cells in the vicinity, but neither of them knew anything. The Songbirds and their agents vanished without a trace, like they would have never existed.

Anger slowly clouded Iorveth’s mind. This was no coincidence. Ildico, Skylark, whoever she was, she must have planned it, such a disappearance must be organized extremely well. His disdain and the knowledge that he was betrayed, bittered his mind as he thought of what they had lost. Their new home, their hope for a new life in peace. Seeing his elves wander next to him with empty expressions made Iorveth’s heart ache more than anything before.

_It is my fault. I was to give my people home and I took everything away from them. The dh’oine brought only suffering and sadness to us and I let myself to be enraptured by…_

He couldn’t help but think again about what he saw in Vengerberg. Was it all for vain? Was it only a show? Could this gang be so vicious that they used kids to deceive them?

No, this at least couldn’t be true. Iorveth had the chance to work with underworld organizations in the past. The improvised school was probably set up at a different, well-guarded place. For the secluded, lucky ones, who were not used for some shady purpose.

 _Like us_.

He felt a wave of shame overflow his soul.

 _Not like I would have cared about those kids a few months ag_ o.

His newly born hatred was only disturbed during the nights. In his dreams, Iorveth always saw her. He relived every moment he had with her in the garden, felt the warmth of her body again, saw her eyes full with stars, her naked figure sleeping next to him as he held her protectively, safe from all harm, and she gave him her all. All her short human life, to an elf, who had wanted to eliminate her race for decades and who, in his nightly visions, wanted her more than anything else in this sphere, in any of the spheres, if only for those moments before she would be dragged away by the short lifetime of her kind.

And the dreams always took her away. He could never hold her back. He always witnessed how her warm skin lost life, the feeling that he could not keep her back whatever did he try.

When Iorveth first woke up from such a dream, he lay trembling for half an hour, struggling with his inner storm. Anger, confusion, sorrow chased each other in his mind. Why would he even dream such a thing? When he was awake, the only thing he wanted to do with that woman was to break her neck. She _did_ leave him behind, she _did_ betray him. And yet… her eyes, as she stood on the balcony, would never leave him alone.

_Considering how many times have I been betrayed before, it’s kind of ridiculous how much it hurts now. Cyfaill… my ass._

Sometimes he wished that the Scoia’tael would still be haunting the forests of Flotsam. There, the enemy was obvious; a hate-mongered lardass whose soldiers were not a fig better than him. The populace was so ignited with the anti-nonhuman drivels that they were hardly more than a rabble; although Gwynbleidd managed to hold back some of them during the massacre which broke out after they defeated Roche’s men in the ruins of Cáelmewedd. Still, a mob without a mind, had it not been not for Geralt, they would have butchered their own neighbours without remorse.

_As I did not feel a hint of remorse when I saw the hell I helped to create._

What did he say to Geralt? _They wish to watch me die and I wish to watch them die. It’s the way of things in this world._

It truly was the way of the world in Flotsam. There, everything was simple.

_And now? It’s just as simple, we were betrayed._

_But why am I in doubt then?_

The visions did not leave him. After a few days, he learned to control the hailstorm of his mind after awakening, to such a scale that only some elves in his unit noticed that something was not all right with him.

At an evening, Ciaran sat down next to Iorveth, like he just wanted to help in fletching the newly made arrows.

‘Iorveth, Myriel says she knows an oneiromancer in a nearby village.’ he whispered. ‘You know what they are capable of. They can get in touch with other persons through dreams… and they can help dissolve nightmares.’

Iorveth continued to work on the arrows. He supported his quiver next to his leg, so he could put the completed arrows into it at once. Ciaran watched him work. He wondered what could his elven brother keep in that small pocket on the quiver; it wasn’t big enough to hold tools to make arrows or enough arrowheads, should they be necessary, but he didn’t ask - he watched his friend suffer for a few days and didn’t want to vex him more than necessary.

‘I’ll think about it.’ Iorveth answered. Ciaran nodded and he did not push the subject.

A day passed, they continued their way down to the south. The village and the oneiromancer fell behind them. They were never mentioned again.

* * *

The feeling that they were somewhere beyond a point of no return was lingering between the elves. They could not return to Vergen, but the life they had in the forests of Flotsam was also out of reach.

_Though I doubt anyone of us wanted to live like that again._

Iorveth couldn’t help but smile when he remembered Geralt’s words. _Your pride keeps you sneaking around woods and sleeping in ditches._ The witcher’s life hung by a thread for a moment and the commander sometimes lamented that perhaps it would have been best if he just simply had the vatt’ghern shot, because Geralt never really held himself back when it was about making Iorveth face his mistakes.

_But if it hadn’t been for him, we would have never known what a home would be like._

Iorveth sensed the tension in his unit. Things have changed, they had nothing to fight for anymore. After decades of military service, he knew how dangerous that situation could be; someone who has nothing to lose would not yield for any command after a while.

He had to find a solution sooner or later, especially after he noticed that one person was missing from his unit.

They set camp at a cold evening. Iorveth set watchmen, ordered some scouts to search the area, then sat down by the fire for a moment of peace.

_Before the dreams come to me again._

Suddenly, a small, slender figure emerged from the depth of the woods.

Iorveth watched Myriel as she sat down next to the fire. The she-elf did not look at her or at anyone. She took a piece of mouldy bread from her sack and started chewing on it, staring into the fire.

_In Vergen, she could eat freshly baked bread._

‘Did you find anything?’ Iorveth asked her. Myriel went stiff for a moment.

‘What do you…’

‘I have more than a century of experience in interrogations. It does not take too much to determine if someone is lying.’ he interrupted. ‘And, of course, your day-long absence did not go unnoticed either.’

Myriel looked back at him darkly, then cast down her eyes.

‘There was nothing in Vengerberg, was there?’ Iorveth asked, and he could hardly hide the hope in his voice.

The she-elf sat in silence for long, long minutes.

‘Nothing.’ she replied finally. ‘Not even a trace. The courthouse is abandoned, like no one would have visited it for years.’

Iorveth sighed. _What did I even expect..._

‘Professionals, I give them that.’

Myriel took an impatient gesture.

‘Commander, I think I…’

Iorveth didn’t let her finish.

‘One more adventure like this, and I do not want to see you again in my unit.’ he said lowly, his green eye narrowed. ‘You are free to leave, but if you stay, you will obey me. I will not tolerate insubordination in the future.’

Myriel stared at him with eyes wide, but she didn’t respond. She held the piece of bread in her hand, like some kind of talisman.

Iorveth felt his heart aching. He understood her, much more than she could imagine.

 _I have to think about something, very soon_.

* * *

The next day, something happened that finally stirred them up.

The unit moved in the depth of the forests, not going near to settlements, Iorveth did not want to risk an open combat with a such a small group. They sometimes shot down a few lumberjacks or hunters to get food or some weapons, but until that dawn, they had not engaged in a battle.

The elves marched through the edge of a ravine, slipping from bush to bush, from tree to tree, as their century-old instincts dictated and those instincts did not lead them astray. Ciaran appeared next to the commander.

‘Iorveth, look!’ he whispered and showed down into the small valley.

A group of soldiers marched down in the ravine, following the trail running in the woods. There were around thirty people, infantrymen and some officers on horseback; possibly a vanguard party from a bigger unit. However, what was really intriguing about them was their armours and weapons. The officers wore breastplate, the infantrymen chainmails with tunics, but all their clothing had the Black Sun sewn upon them.

Iorveth felt shiver running down on his spine.

_Nilfgaard is at our gates._

If they could get this far in such a short time, how much time do they need until they reach Upper Aedirn? The royal palace in Vengerberg has still not yet seen the election of a new king, the lower part of the country was in interregnal chaos. Lyria was but a small country, still recovering from the last war, and Dol Blathanna… who knew whose side they would take. Iorveth remembered the noblewoman’s talk on the party at Cysgodol, but he never thought it would come true.

_Francesca Findabair, allying herself with Queen Meve of Lyria? Fairy tale._

There was nothing that could stop Nilfgaard from reaching Vergen.

_Unless…_

Iorveth’s eye gleamed as he lifted his hand. After a moment of surprise, Ciaran smiled and drew his bow, so did the other elves.

‘We take no prisoners.’ Iorveth murmured. Ciaran nodded.

As the commander waved, the arrows were released.

Cries of pain and surprise sounded in the valley as the Nilfgaardians were searching for their attackers. Many of them collapsed, dying or already dead, many were wounded severely. Their officers tried to line them up, but with moderate success; those who were not injured faced the first wave of elves emerging from the woods. Their lines were broken within an instance as the elves threw themselves at them, shouting.

One of the Nilfgaardian officers cried out and spurred the horse, racing in the direction of Iorveth. The commander stood calmly in the bloodbath of the battle, looking at his attacker, then lifted his hand to give order for the next wave of arrows.

The result was a disaster for the Nilfgaardians, hardly any soldier could stand up anymore. Some of them ran into woods in panic, some of them just remained where they were, dying in pain.

A bolt hit the horse of Iorveth’s attacker and the mount crashed into the mud, dragging its rider down. A curse thundered from the mouth of the officer and Iorveth stopped in shock.

He knew this voice.

He poked his chin to the direction of the officer.

‘Get that one to me!’ he shouted to Ciaran. His lieutenant gave him a quick nod, waved to an another elf, then they dragged the ravaging Nilfgaardian, whose helmet fell off to reveal a huge bunch of curly black hair and the finely shaped, yet ferocious face of a woman. She didn’t stop cursing for a moment and Iorveth knew that he was not wrong about her identity.

‘I see the Hotlips of Zerrikania hasn’t cooled a bit.’ he said, sourly.

The woman looked up on him from under her curls. The expression of recognition appeared on her rounded face.

‘Is that you, Iorveth? Gods, you look awful. What the hell are you doing here?’

Iorveth fought back the urge to smile. It was really her, Naira, the mercenary captain, who was hired by Nilfgaard during the second war and fought in many battles for good money, including the battle at Brenna. He remembered her well.

Mercenaries and devoted soldiers have always looked each other with a certain amount of disdain. This was no different during the second Nilfgaardian war; Naira’s mercenary group was positioned next to the Vrihedd Brigade, as they were also directly subordinated to Major General Markus Braibant. The elven soldiers, deeply loyal to their cause, fighting for a promised homeland, commanded by Isengrim Faoiltiarna; and the reckless mercenaries, led by the openly materialistic Naira were a strange sight together; there were some occasions when the commanding general had to stop their clashes. No one knew exactly where the dark-skinned, black-eyed, long black haired woman came from, but she never objected against the Zerrikanian epithet. In fact, she never really objected to anything - neither to pleasure nor to killing.

She got her nickname after she blew fire at a Redanian squad in the battle near Brenna. Literally, as she took petroleum in her mouth, then blew the liquid at a torch, causing a spectacular bonfire. According to the enthusiastic eye witnesses, she melted at least twenty soldiers in their armors; the more realistic ones spoke about a maximum of seven or eight dead, including two of her own unit and those who were simply trampled to death by their panicking comrades. Despite the debatable headcount, her action had a remarkable effect on the Redanian troop they were attacking; the red-coated soldiers ran screaming. Although Brenna was lost in the end, that didn’t fade Naira’s glory away - she became known as the Hotlips of Zerrikania.

Iorveth never could decide if he liked the woman or not. On one hand, she embodied every trait that he ever hated in the dh’oine: she was greedy, voracious, didn’t respect gods neither people and would have sold her own mother in exchange for a bountiful prey. On the other, Naira never tried to be anything else than what she was. And she was a warrior, selling her skills, enraged by one thing and one thing only: if her due payment lagged behind. She always had many nonhumans fighting in her group, and never treated them any differently than the humans - which meant she paid them equally and left them behind just as quickly.

Iorveth looked at the pouting woman closely.

_Still living on Nilfgaard’s money… she certainly had a steadier career than me._

‘I am protecting my home from the enemy.’ he answered, glaring at her. ‘The enemy who happens to be you now. Does the Black Sun really pay you that well?’

Naira lifted her eyebrows and shrugged, as she could in the grasp of the elves.

‘Come on, Iorveth, you know their rates well.’ she answered in a reckless manner, then sneered at the elf. ‘All too well, if I heard the happenings of the past years correctly.’

‘Vulture!’ Iorveth spat at her.

Naira just laughed.

‘There, there, Iorveth.’ she smiled. ‘I told you you should join me. I would have taught you how to see through the shifty contractors, it’s been my job for a long time!’

‘Naira, you never even had the slightest idea about valour and honor.’ Iorveth answered. ‘I don’t expect you to understand.’

The woman grimaced.

‘I’m paid to fight, elf. I can’t allow the luxury to have honour. It is not my fault that the Black Sun interpreted their pact with you in their own peculiar way.’ she said. ‘I got paid, you did not, it’s nothing personal!’

The commander forced calmness on himself.

‘It becomes personal in the moment when you march here with the Black Ones and threaten the lands I have sworn to protect.’ he said in a low, ferocious tone, but Naira didn’t seem impressed.

‘‘Elf, you must be joking.’ she sneered at Iorveth. ‘A few years ago, we walked these lands side by side, you’ve killed the same people I killed and now you tell me I shouldn’t be here?’

Iorveth stepped closer.

‘Times are changing, dh’oine.’ he whispered, almost inaudibly, yet everyone heard him. ‘Nilfgaard didn’t pay my due, but someone else did. I am not a bandit in the woods anymore, I am not a vagabond, I will protect my people from invaders!’

Naira tilted her head sideways and laughed out loudly.

‘Aren’t you precious?’ she giggled and wasn’t even bothered by the two elves grabbing her arms. ’Isn’t is wondrous how versatile ideas can be?’

‘If I’d pay you twice the amount that Nilfgaard pays you, you would switch allegiance in a moment!’ Iorveth growled.

‘What is so surprising about that? Everyone has a price.’ Naira said, still smiling. ‘We are not that different, my beautiful comrade… I can be bought by a fair sum, your price is your heart. You were never too choosy to pay that.‘ she winked.

Iorveth’s remaining eye narrowed as he stepped in front of the woman.

‘I can’t allow myself the luxury to have a heart.’ he murmured.

_Can’t I?_

A blade gleamed in his hand and in the next moment, Naira cried out.

Iorveth stabbed his dagger into her right upper thigh, pressing the blade deeper and deeper, moving it upwards. His elves held the shouting Naira firmly; they let her go only when Iorveth stepped back and waved to them.

The Zerrikanian woman fell to the ground, pressing her hands on her bleeding thigh and looked up to Iorveth with hatred in her eyes.

Iorveth looked back at her calmly.

‘Go back to your masters and tell them: they are not welcome in these lands. Let them come with the mightiest army, we will crush them.’ he said in a cool, solemn voice. ‘And the next time I see you... I will kill you.’

Naira raised her head, her face distorted from pain, but a smirk still appeared on her face.

‘Mightiest, I’d argue.’ she hissed. ‘But they are definitely more numerous than you, you bastard.’

Iorveth smirked back.

‘Then we’ll trim them a little.’ he answered boldly.

Naira scoffed.

‘And how am I supposed to go back to our camp like this?’ she asked. ‘If I don’t bleed to death, then I’ll make a good dinner for some monster.’

Iorveth just shrugged.

‘I suggest you blow fire at them, that was rather effective last time… or not?’

‘I’m not a fucking dragon, elf.’ Naira hissed in pain.

Iorveth watched her attentively. _Of course you are not, yet you still dare to threaten a dragon._

'Then probably you should not act like one, friend.' he nodded and turned his back on the whimpering woman.

He waved to his soldiers and they vanished into the woods, leaving the clearing and the cursing Naira behind.

Iorveth motioned Ciaran to step next to him.

‘We’ll stay here. This is an important route to Upper Aedirn, if any Nilfgaardian wants to enter here... they will bitterly regret it.’ he said. ‘Ready the unit to set camp and to scout the area.’

Ciaran bowed, his face brightening up; they had a purpose again, something they could fight for. Iorveth, however, had his doubts, though he was clever enough not to show them.

_We can stay here for a while, but then…?_

‘Iorveth, one more thing.’ Ciaran spoke and the commander turned his head towards his lieutenant.

‘What?’

‘We are an elf down.’

Iorveth was astonished for a moment, he didn’t see anyone dying in the ravine. Then he figured it out.

‘Myriel?’

Ciaran nodded.

Iorveth stopped. He felt a strange pain in his chest and again. He thought of the house in Vengerberg, the children, the abacus he made them… And the stars in a human girl’s eyes.

_The stars that led me astray._

Iorveth knew that he should order Ciaran to shoot the she-elf on sight, as they had always done so with deserters. They were traitors, betraying their cause, they did not deserve to live. Yet he remembered Myriel’s small figure next to the fire, the growing hopelessness in her eyes and he couldn’t condemn her, for he felt the same pain, he already saw his dreams shattered, more than once.

_I have to hold on, for my people, for Vergen, even if nothing awaits for me, only betrayal._

He continued to walk, Ciaran and the elves followed him in silence.

Iorveth looked up to the sky. Night was coming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naira is loosely inspired by DA2's Isabela - God, I love that girl.


	28. Merigold's Hailstorm

Triss went to her old quarters, curled up on her bed and cried for an hour.

She remembered how Tissaia de Vries, her old tutor in the Aretuza mage school used to say that nothing was more pitiful than a crying sorceress, but she couldn’t help herself. She never could. That was Yen.

_Why, why, why did I ever let myself enchanted by him?_

_Why did I ever seduce him?_

As her crying slowly faded, Triss finally could think clearly again. She felt like there would be a hollow in the place of her heart, but she dragged herself back to reality. She could not go after Geralt; but she promised to find her friend. She knew that Ildico would never betray them; she had known her for a time.

Triss remembered the first months when she was appointed as an advisor to King Foltest of Temeria. It was two or three years after Ciri took Geralt and Yen with her to another sphere, to save their lives when they were severely wounded during the Rivian pogrom that followed the victory of the North in the second Nilfgaardian war. The Lodge still existed, but she has learned before not to trust her colleagues too deeply; they all had their own ways and interests. Zoltan and Dandelion went their own paths. Triss was alone.

When she was asked to cure the sick child of a minister, she needed a very rare ingredient to a potion that was nowhere to be found in Vizima, neither at the court, nor at the ragged merchants of the lower town. It was her first serious assignment and she started to panic: if the child died, that would not secure her place at the court, to say the least. Then she heard another councillor whisper something about a smuggling group who could get anything needed, for the appropriate price.

So Triss arranged a meeting with the Songbirds.

The woman who arrived at the meeting, with her long auburn hair and smiling eyes looked more like a charming court lady than a skillful smuggler, but Triss soon made sure that this was only the surface. The Songbird assured her of her service, and although Triss was at the beginning of her career, with very little money, the woman accepted the moderate price. The only condition she made was that Triss had to look after the children belonging to the families who worked for the smuggler group. The sorceress accepted the bargain, she got the ingredient and could cure the minister’s child, making her first big victory at Foltest’s court. Following that, she often asked for the help of the woman; it was she who introduced Ildico Ferenczy to Vernon Roche as well. This was how an underground group became a solid supporter of the royal court; sick times, sick people, as Roche said sourly once.

Triss kept her word, the smuggler families could always come to her when they needed medications. She continued to stay in contact with them and slowly started to see more of their leader - as she learned that the auburn-haired Ildico was the head of the organization.

Triss told a lot about her life to Ildi, and she always listened. She did not say that much about herself, but Triss knew that it was not because of mistrust or malevolence. The sorceress always suspected that the smuggler carried a grave secret and she knew from experience that these secrets do not give themselves away easily.

Triss always admired how Ildico fancied and looked after the children of her subordinates, regardless of race, but she never knew why. The fondness she showed towards these children was more than simple maternal instinct.

At a time, they went to the Viziman bath house together, and that was the first time when Triss first saw her friend with a naked torso. That was the first time she noticed that huge scar, the trail of a blunt knife, running up from her pubic bone, across her abdomen and stomach, ending in her left breast which was also distorted a little by the cut. Triss has seen a thing or two in her life, but she couldn’t imagine how this wound could have looked in its raw state. It was a miracle Ildico survived it.

The smuggler noticed that Triss was staring at her stomach and she gave the sorceress a faint smile.

‘I know it sounds unbelievable, but there are people who don’t like me.’ she said.

Triss shook her head.

‘But this much?’ she asked. ‘It looks like an abdominal delivery gone terribly wrong.’

That was the moment when pain and sadness flew over Ildi’s ever-beaming face and for a moment she looked much older than she actually was. Triss knew that she hit a nerve.

_Was it really an abdominal delivery?_

‘I’m sorry, darling.’ she said and to show her remorse, she gently started to clean her friend’s shoulder with a sponge. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

Ildi’s hand ran up to hers and she squeezed it for a moment. Some minutes passed and then they continued chit-chatting like nothing would have happened.

Ildi never told Triss the story of her wound, but she was clearly relieved that someone else knew about its existence, like some of the weight she had been carrying would have rolled off from her shoulders. The sorceress knew that the smuggler trusted her and she trusted the smuggler in return.

Somehow, it seemed so natural that Ildi fell for Iorveth. They were both incredibly protective of their people and by different means, they aimed to reach freedom and liberty for all the races in the Northern Kingdoms. And they were both horribly disfigured.

_She never lied to me, she never betrayed me._

_But how will I prove it?_

Tris sat up on her bed and looked around. If she had a piece of Ildi’s clothings, she could track her down, like Philippa did with her when Geralt found her bandana…

Triss felt tears build up in her eyes again, then shook her head. This was not the time.

She needed something that belonged to Ildico, but she knew that she would not find such a thing in Vergen; Ildi took all her belongings with her to Vengerberg.

_So that’s where I will start my search._

The sorceress quickly took up a comfortable pair of trousers, a shirt and a cloak. She opened a teleport and stepped into the whirling light, not looking back.

* * *

 

She pulled up her cloak and looked out at the street. It was well after midnight, a city guard patrol just disappeared behind the corner, but Triss knew she had to be careful. She was a stranger in town, and she heard that the witch hunts began by Radovid in Loc Muinne slowly started to spread over all of the Northern Kingdoms.

_A few more months and there will be massacres… Gods, let me find Ildi before it’s too late!_

Triss peaked out from the dark alley. The courthouse which was so alive during their visit in Vengerberg seemed dark and abandoned, like no one would have inhabited it for a few years. Triss didn’t let herself to be frightened. She slowly conjured a low-key, silent discovering spell and sent it along the seemingly old and worn window bars and the huge locket on the entrance door.

The magic lightly illuminated the wood and some spots on the door. The touch of a warm body… which meant that the house was still regularly visited. Someone wanted it to appear as abandoned - but they clearly didn’t think of setting up some cloaking spells.

_Had Ildi been behind this, she would surely not have forgotten it._

_Or would she?_

Triss leaned back into the darkness of the alley, thinking about her next step, when suddenly, someone grabbed her hair and slammed her into the wall.

‘What the…?’ she cried out unintentionally.

A cool, hostile voice responded as the sorceress felt the touch of a cold blade on her neck.

‘Shout if you want, _daerienn_ , but don’t think I will not drop you as a bait if someone hears it.’

Triss gulped in surprise. She knew this voice; and as she looked down on the small figure standing in front of her, with black eyes glowing in the shadows, she recognized her attacker.

‘Myriel!’ she exclaimed. ‘What do you..?’

The she-elf didn’t lower her knife.

‘What happened, _daerienn_?’ she asked, her voice was still firm. ‘Iorveth is out in the wild and he claims Ehedydd betrayed him. How could she? Why would she…?’

Triss heard the twinges of begging sadness in the she-elf’s voice.

‘I know you don’t believe that, Myriel.’ she said, trying to be encouraging. ‘Otherwise I would be dead already.’

Myriel stared at the sorceress for a moment, then pulled back her knife. As she closed her eyes, a teardrop rolled down on her face.

‘Well, as Iorveth said: we have never been children.’ she said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know why I continue to hope… like a foolish child!’

Triss knew her pain all too well. They were both on the edge of society, and they both were robbed of their childhood. Their innocence.

‘Did Iorveth send you?’ she asked and the she-elf shook her head.

‘I cannot go back to him.’ she answered. ‘He should have… he didn’t have to…’

Myriel buried her face into her palms.

‘We were abandoned, all our lives.’ she whispered. ‘He shouldn’t have abandoned her! He shouldn’t have abandoned Ehedydd! At least not until…’

Triss couldn’t help but caress the she-elf's face. Myriel was still young; she still had hopes and dreams about a glorious freedom and a world that always pays the price to the evil and valors the brave.

_But how will our story end?_

‘So you came to Vengerberg on your own?’ Triss asked and Myriel nodded.

‘I’ve visited here a couple of days ago and everything seemed abandoned… Iorveth told me to leave it, but I couldn’t.’ she sniffed then looked up at Triss. ‘Will you help me, sorceress? You will not leave it like this, will you?’ she asked, pleading in her voice.

Triss shook her head.

‘Of course I won’t.’ she said. ‘I came to help Ildico.’

‘Did Gwynbleidd come with you?’

Triss bit on her lower lip before she could answer.

‘Well, let’s just say that Geralt’s stance on the matter is quite similar to Iorveth’s.’ she muttered, forcing back the tears.

Myriel sighed. ‘So we are on our own.’

‘That doesn’t mean we are helpless.’ the sorceress waved. ‘Did you notice anything, Myriel? Anything that might be useful?’

The she-elf fell into thinking.

‘Triss… I think there are still inhabitants in that house. I’ve been watching it for some time now and sometimes I see movements behind the shutters… But no one comes to the house or leaves it.’

Triss quickly thought it over.

‘There must be an underground entrance.’ she said. ‘Myriel, can you find a spot where we could enter the sewers? ‘

Finally a smile appeared on the she-elf’s face.

‘Just a moment, sorceress.’

* * *

 

As the women moved forward on the squidgy side corridors, Triss started to think that maybe this was not that a good idea.

‘Gods, that smell, something died down here.’ she growled.

Myriel looked back at her, with slight disdain on her face.

‘A lot of things died down here and a lot of things get down here which aren’t supposed to be up there. It’s called sewers for a reason, you know.’

She turned away to scout the corridor and Triss felt herself blushing in shame. She had to remind herself that her life as a royal advisor was probably easier in many aspects than the life Myriel had to conduct, no matter how fragile that court life was. She had many privileges; including the unnecessity of ever descending into a sewer. Myriel probably has seen more than one during her life.

_No wonder she joined the Scoia’tael._

The smell grew even worse, but Triss kept her mouth shut, except for the regular exploring spells she sent out into the damp, greenish air and the cloaking incantation she kept around them - she didn’t want to risk a meeting with anyone, monsters the least.

_After all, we are not witchers._

Moments, minutes, hours passed and they still roamed around in the soggy, stinking corridors. Triss was not even bothered by the stench anymore.

‘I can’t believe it.’ she said. ‘I’m sure we are under the house but I can’t find any entrance!’

‘It’s no point, Triss.’ Myriel said.’ Let’s go back to the surface, let’s see if we find something there!’

‘Wait!’ Triss fell into thinking as she remembered how she used to communicate with the Songbirds when a package was about to be delivered.

_The calling whistle tune._

The sorceress dispelled the cloaking magic to make themselves visible. She put her lips together and whistled the melody she remembered.

The sharp voice echoed beneath the humid walls, leaving an eerie silence behind.

Nothing answered from the darkness, but something made Triss’s skin scrawl. She felt Myriel drawing nearer; the she-elf seemed frightened.

‘There’s something…’ she said, but couldn’t finish her sentence. A shadow drew out from a side corridor, quickly disarmed her and covered her mouth with a dark cloth that made the she-elf slide down at once, her eyes closed.

Triss tried to remember a defending spell, but she didn’t have time to release it - she felt hands around her and a stupefying smell in her nose, then her knees weakened and she went down.

* * *

 

She awoke to the feeling of something heavily straining her jaws. Her mouth was gagged. In her first wrath, she wanted to conjure a breaking spell, but she found her magic blocked. She looked down on her shackled wrists and instantly understood why.

_Dimeritium!_

She squeaked angrily as she looked around. She was in a tiny room, sitting on the floor, next to the wall; Myriel was just regaining her consciousness next to her. The she-elf was also gagged, her wrists tied up. As she realized her situation and recognized Triss, she drew closer to her, shaking her head in desperation. Triss tried to look at her encouragingly - as she could, being also tied up -, and as she looked around, she noticed a young, blond elf sitting on a couch, just in front of her.

‘Dereol!’ she tried to cry out, but only mumblings came from her mouth.

The young elf looked back at her indifferently, his blue eyes gleaming sharply. His stance was of a vigilant scout, ready for everything he had to do to defend what’s his own. He was very, very unlike the clumsy elf as Triss got to know him.

‘I will let you speak freely, sorceress, but you will answer my questions.’ he said. ‘The moment I notice you try to hide anything from me, you and your little friend are both dead. Understand?’

Triss felt her blood boil in rage but she had no choice but to nod.

The elf pulled out the gag from her mouth and she caught her breath, gulping to drive away the numbness of her mouth.

‘What the hell, Dereol?’ she shouted as she could drew enough breath to speak. ‘You know me!’

‘I know that you have been sniffing around at areas where no one should be around except us.’ the elf answered coldly.

‘We’ve been trying to find you!’ Triss cried and lifted up her shackled wrists. ‘Get this shit down from my hand, do you understand me?’

‘I will do nothing until you answer my question, sorceress.’ Dereol answered. ‘Where is Ildico?’

Triss stared back at him in terror.

‘So you don’t know anything about her either.’ she stuttered.

Finally, Dereol seemed confused.

‘You were together at the Cysgodol Palace, and you tell me you don’t know where she is?’

Triss felt tears blurring her eyesight again.

‘Oh, gods, she must be in a big trouble…’

The young elf scoffed.

‘You really don’t know?’ he asked. ‘Dol Blathanna is in turmoil, the lord of Cysgodol has been found dead at the eve of the Velen equinox. His murderer vanished and there is no trace.’ Dereol leaned forward. ‘Ildico should have made contact with our agents at Gulet, but we haven’t heard about her ever since. The news we receive from Gulet are fragmented, to say the least. What happened at the palace, sorceress?’

Triss stared at her with a mixture of relief and horror. So Ildi managed to escape the palace… but where she could have gone? Did she even kill that elf? Triss shivered. From what Ildi mentioned, Chulainn was just as hateful for her as the Dol Blathannan ambassador.

_Could she…?_

‘I don’t know what happened at the palace.’ she muttered. ‘Ildi and Iorveth went to get the letters, Geralt and I were supposed to meet them in the gardens but only Iorveth showed up, claiming that Ildi betrayed us and we must escape…’

Dereol snarled.

‘I knew she should have never trusted that whoreson.’

Myriel made an outraged moan, but Triss quickly continued speaking, before Dereol’s attention would have been turned to the she-elf.

‘Dereol, I think there must have been a terrible misunderstanding. Iorveth was determined to protect her. He wouldn’t have left her there just like that!’

The elf didn’t seem to be touched.

‘If he wouldn’t have left her behind, why is she missing?’

‘I don’t know… I don’t know what could have happened!’ Triss answered. ‘Please, Dereol, help me! Iorveth is out in the wilds, he cannot go back to Vergen, Geralt is after him… We are on our own, we must find her!’

‘And how do you plan to do so?’

Triss took a deep breath.

‘Get me a thing she owned, something she wore that you haven’t washed since then and I can tell where she is now!’

Dereol chuckled.

‘I didn’t know sorceresses can act as watchdogs… All right. Wait here.’ he said then left the tiny room, leaving the women alone.

‘As if we could leave.’ Triss murmured irately, then helped Myriel to spit out the gag from her mouth.

The she-elf moved her jaw and a painful grimace flew over her face.

‘That little shit.’ she spat after Dereol.

‘Just don’t make him angry, Myriel.’ Triss warned her. ‘He might as well decide we are not friends after all.’

Myriel hissed, but she didn’t answer.

Dereol soon returned, another young elf and a dwarf accompanied him. He nodded to his comrades and they freed the women. Triss and Myriel rubbed their wrists as Dereol’s men left the room and the blond elf lifted up a piece of cloth.

Triss’s eyes widened and she looked at Dereol with a raised eyebrow.

‘Are you kidding me?’

Dereol shook the worn sock.

‘Hey, this is the only thing I’m sure she wore before she left.’

Triss rolled her eyes as Myriel gulped back her chuckle.

‘Ildico’s gonna pay for that.’ the sorceress murmured and she took the sock over. She wanted to start to put up the spell at once, but Dereol interrupted.

‘Just a moment, sorceress. We do not care about lost Scoia’tael leaders or countries with fairy dragon queens.’ he said. ‘We want Ildico back, no one else.’

‘Oh yes, who cares what that Scoia’tael leader did for you all.’ Myriel couldn’t resist a remark.

Dereol looked at her attentively. His eyes stopped at the she-elf’s neck, where a pattern of leaf tattoo scrawled on her skin, from under her clothes.

‘He must have done so much for you as well if you are here and not with him, am I right, _sor’ca_?’ he asked.

Myriel opened her mouth, then turned away, her cheeks reddening.

Triss curled her lips in disdain. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind some men who could help us.’

Dereol shook his head.

‘Miss Merigold, you are a faithful and trustworthy client, this is the only reason I am letting you go now.’ he said. ‘Our headquarters have moved away, only a few of us remained in Vengerberg. I cannot let any of my men go.’

‘Where did you move?’ Triss’s eyes narrowed.

Dereol raised his eyebrows.

‘Do you really think I will tell you?’

Triss let out a forced nod, but she could hardly hide her laughter. She remembered well when Dereol said that Ildi should have reported to Gulet. It seemed the young elf was not so cunning after all.

_If he’s lucky enough, he’ll live to improve._

‘All right.’ Triss nodded. ‘Thanks for the help anyway.’

Dereol nodded.

‘Anything for a good customer.’

* * *

The evening was chilly, the sorceress and the she-elf grabbed their cloaks, freezing.

Triss looked around. The sock was enough to determine a wider radius of the current whereabouts of Ildico. It led them to a hillside, south from Gulet, and as they stepped out from the portal, Triss’s heart grew heavy with fear because she had no idea why would Ildi be in the forest.

If she wanted to go to Gulet, this area would be a detour, there is only a small village and a dwarven burial site in the vicinity… what would she have done here?

She shook her head from time to time, to drive away the thought that started to haunt her: that they would find nothing but a corpse.

_No, no, gods, anyone, please don’t let it be to late._

Triss nearly screamed when Myriel touched her arm.

‘Stop, _daerienn_.’ she whispered. ‘I think we are not alone.’

‘Ildi?’ Triss asked hopefully, but Myriel just kept searching the depth of the woods.

‘No.’ she said. ‘One of my kinsmen.’

Triss felt shiver running down on her spine. She remembered how silently Myriel and the other Scoia’tael elves crawled upon them when they were on their way to the castle.

‘Can he see us?’ she whispered.

Myriel waved a dismissive hand.

‘I don’t think so, but he will if we move forward like this.’ she said. ‘I think we should split up.’

Triss looked at her confusedly.

‘What will prevent him from shooting down both of us?’

Myriel fell into thinking for a moment.

‘I can move in the forest without a sound.’ she said. ‘If you catch his attention, I try to corner him.’

Triss thought for a moment, then nodded.

‘I will put up a barrier spell.’ she said. ‘That should confuse him well enough.’

Myriel smiled at her, then grabbed her cloak.

‘Keep walking then, sorceress.’ she said. ‘I will cover you.’

With that, she disappeared in the woods, Triss had to rub her eyes. Myriel simply vanished.

_I wouldn’t mind if I could do such a thing without magic._

She whispered an incantation and felt the warmth of the barrier activating on her skin; then stepped forward and continued her way.

She barely walked a few minutes when she heard a twanging sound; the orange barrier glowed up around her and a butterfly flew in front of her face, marking the way of a mysterious arrow.

Triss smiled; Myriel was right, someone was in the woods. The she-elf’s experience saved her life.

Then a voice of a man harshed into the silence.

‘You can’t be serious, reddie. Butterfly?’

The sorceress impatiently looked around in the evening forest but saw no one.

‘Well, at least I am alive!’ she cried back. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘From you? Nothing personal, reddie. You are on a territory where you should not be, that’s all.’

‘And so you decided to shoot me down?’ Triss cried into the air, looking around; searching for the origin of the sound as well as for Myriel. ‘That’s not so courteous, you know!’

‘Oh, a dh’oine lectures me about courtesy! How charming.’

Triss scoffed. _So he really is Aen Seidhe._

‘I am definitely not racist, you strange bodiless voice. A bastard human and a bastard elf is the same difference to me!’

‘A philanthropist sorceress, what a nice sight!’ the voice answered. ‘You are quite amusing, reddie. How about you turn and go back from where you came, so I don’t have to kill you? Because if you plan on advancing, sorceress or not, I will rip up your stomach so you can drag your own bowels until you drop dead!’

‘You will not frighten me!’ Triss shouted angrily. ‘I am searching for someone and I’m determined, I won’t turn back now! Whoever you are, leave me alone. And stop bloody calling me reddie!’

The voice did not answer for a while. Then the cracking of branches sounded - probably on purpose because elves never made a sound when they moved in the forest - and a tall, lean figure of an elf stepped out to the clearing where Triss was standing. A twinge of fear ran through her heart. His face was distorted by a scar that ran across his forehead, his nose and his cheek, but what really frightened her was his expression, the icy, merciless cold blue eyes that never let her eyes go. He was beautiful and deadly dangerous and Triss started to think where had she seen him before.

‘I am not that kind of person who gives more than one chance, dh’oine.’ the elf said. ‘I try to say it plainly so you would understand: you are unwanted here. Go away!’

A fast glint was seen but he realized it too late - Myriel was standing next to him, with her short sword at his neck.

‘You are not the one giving orders here, _fraere._ ’ she said. ‘Drop your weapons, answer the _daerienn’s_ questions and you will be free to go!’

The elf understood that he was trapped. He let go of his bow and lifted up his hands. He did not even look at Myriel but his voice was full with bitter scorn.

‘So, I had to live the day when a blood traitor threatens me in favor of a filthy dh’oine.’

Triss saw the sudden pain appearing in Myriel’s eyes and she quickly responded.

‘We do not want your death, Aen Seidhe, quite the contrary, we want to help many of your kind. We are looking for a human woman.’ She stepped closer and again, felt a shudder looking into those blue eyes. _Where have I met him?_ ’An auburn-haired woman. She should be here somewhere. Have you seen her?’

The elf looked back at her attentively, then slowly turned his head towards Myriel. His gaze wandered to the she-elf’s neck. Triss instantly knew he was looking at her tattoo.

‘What is more, a Scoia’tael.’ he said, like he wouldn’t have heard a word Triss said. ‘Who did you betray, deserter?’

Myriel’s lips trembled but she didn’t draw back her sword.

 _A true soldier of Iorveth, she is_.

‘I didn’t betray anyone.’ Myriel said firmly. ‘Reply to the sorceress!’

She looked at Triss, indicating that their newly captured prisoner should expect answers from her.

The elf shrugged like he wouldn’t be interested in them at all, and turned his gaze at Triss again. A shadow of a cheeky smile appeared on his face.

‘How is the Lodge, Triss Merigold?’ he asked. ‘Does Francesca still organize coups?’

Triss felt her face redden as she finally recognized the elf.

‘So it really is you!’ she said bitterly. ‘It was such a nice event at Thanedd. Pity I was busy saving people from your rampage!’

‘Some dh’oine died? What a heartbreaking pity.’ the elf answered, raising an eyebrow.

Myriel stood dumbfounded as she looked at Triss.

‘You know each other?’

‘Only by sight.’ the sorceress responded as she measured the elf who didn’t stop grinning. _Stop that, you bastard_. ‘A few years ago, at a planned reunion of mages on the island of Thanedd, some of them didn’t think that working together was an option and summoned military help, including Scoia’tael commandos. Am I right?’

‘That’s a slightly imprecise summary, _daerienn_.’ the elf winked.

Poor Myriel obviously had trouble keeping track.

‘Who is this exactly?’ she asked demandingly.

The elf didn’t let Triss’s eyes go.

‘Tell my little sister, _daerienn_ , who am I?’

The sorceress looked back at him, distressed. She knew that Myriel joined Iorveth only a few years ago, and clearly, she never met the elven commander whom she was threatening at the moment.

But Triss was sure that she heard about him quite enough.

_Please do not turn away from me, Myriel._

‘His name is Isengrim Faoiltiarna.’ she said quietly.

Myriel dropped her jaws, blood ran out of her face.

‘What…the Iron Wolf...’ she muttered in awe. Triss understood her, you don’t meet your idols every day. But the fact that the aforementioned idol was an utterly dangerous individual could not be overlooked, and the sorceress noticed the gleam in Faolitarna’s eyes; the sign of upcoming attack.

‘Myriel, stand your ground!’ she cried. She had no doubt that the famous commander would finish off the rebellious she-elf in a moment, had he got the chance. Fortunately, Iorveth’s training was thorough: after a few moments, Myriel gained back her stance, though her eyes still reflected a certain enchantment.

Obviously, Isengrim was aware of the impact he made on the young she-elf. From Myriel’s rounded face, his gaze turned back at Triss.

‘Did you manage to turn my kin against me?’ he asked with bitterness. ‘What did you promise to her?’

‘This is not what you think it is, Iron Wolf!’ Triss exclaimed.

‘Is it not?’ the elf’s eyes narrowed, the scar crossing his face distorted his features as he frowned. ‘Is it not in your nature, dh’oine?’

‘If you think I will jump on your allegiatons, you are wrong, Faoiltiarna.’ Triss stated angrily. ‘I don’t believe in collective responsibility, I will not answer for the deeds of others. I never wanted wrong to your kind, neither to anyone!’

‘And you dare to tell me as a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses? You play with lives as cats play with threads!’

‘Are you lecturing me about morals, elf?’ Triss snapped back and she couldn’t help the feeling that Isengrim was only toying with her. The smile never left his face and he watched Triss with challenge in his blue eyes, his scar enhanced his determined expression.

Triss shook her head and before Isengrim could answer, she waved her hand.

‘I do not want to debate with you, Iron Wolf.’ she said. ‘We want to find the woman we are searching for. I know you have seen her!’

For a moment, the elf looked back at the sorceress thoughtfully - and then, the usual mischievous gleam lighted up in his eyes, his smile widening again. Triss knew that he was to continue the cat and mouse game, and that was when she lost her control.

She was fed up with the chase, fed up with the games. She cried a stupefying spell at the Iron Wolf, whose expression turned into surprise, then fear - then he collapsed to the ground, unconsciously.

Myriel stared at the motionless body, then looked up at Triss with eyes wide open; the sorceress couldn’t decide if she was outraged or impressed.

‘You really just knocked out Isengrim Faoiltiarna?’

Triss shrugged clumsily.

‘Well… sorry about that?’ she muttered.

The next moment, the she-elf started to laugh uncontrollably, hysterically, giving away the tension of the past days.

‘ _Bloede dh’oine._ ’ she said, wiping away her tears of laughter. ‘But how will he answer our questions now?’

Triss sighed in relief, then smiled wickedly.

‘I don’t need his cooperation.’ she said, then whispered an incantation. On the ground, footsteps started to glow, one by one… leading into the depth of the forest.

A flicker of smile ran through Myriel’s face and she nodded.

‘Very well. What shall we do with the commander?’

Triss looked at the lying Isengrim. Part of her wanted to leave her behind, but she knew that then, she would have made an unforgiving enemy for herself and for Myriel as well.

‘Leave him to me.’ she said with little pleasure, but she muttered a spell. Isengrim’s body lifted up, like he would have been lying on an invisible stretcher and followed the women as they pursued his footsteps.

* * *

 

The footsteps led to a small cave, hidden so well away by the roots of a nearby, old tree that they didn’t have the slightest chance to notice only by themselves.

Triss prepared a shielding spell and nodded to Myriel. The she-elf nodded back and pulled out her short swords - they wouldn’t know what would wait them inside.

They slowly crawled under the roots. Triss kept looking around and tried to hide away her urge to laugh every time when she looked back at the floating body of Isengrim. Compared to his challenging stance, he seemed so vulnerable now that Triss was surprised to feel sorry for him.

However, Isengrim’s paralyzed figure has left her mind at once as they arrived to a little compartment. It obviously has been furnished in a hurry, but comfortably; there was one bedroll next to the wall and a much comfier, well-lined resting place, in which a dead pale woman was sleeping…

Triss immediately broke off both her spells, she didn’t even looked back to the voice of Isengrim’s body falling to the ground.

‘Ildi!’ she shrieked and threw herself at the faint figure.

‘Dana Méadbh, it’s her, it’s her!’ Myriel jumped to them and as she fell on her knees next to the laying Ildico, she began crying.

It was indeed the smuggler, but Triss hardly could believe her eyes. She lost a lot of weight in the past few days, her face was sunken, her eyes closed. Triss gently touched her face.

‘Ildi!’ she whispered, but her heart sank. The smuggler’s skin was hot as hell, she didn’t reply to her calling. She hardly could breathe, she kept catching for air as she wheezed.

‘Gods, what happened to her?’ Myriel sobbed desperately.

Triss gently touched her friend’s face, whispering a gentle, healing spell. She felt her temperature going down, and in a moment, sweat covered Ildi’s face, her breathing became a bit calmer, but she burst out in deep, chesty coughing. As she fell back to her pillows, still unconscious, a small drop of blood appeared on the corner of her opened lips and ran down in a thin trail on her chin.

‘Pneumonia.’ Triss whispered. She remembered how Ildi coughed in the Cysgodol Palace; something must have worsen her condition. But how did she get here? Why was Isengrim guarding her, why did he try to help her? It was obvious that he prepared the bed for the sick woman, but Triss couldn’t imagine why could he have done this for a dh’oine. She shook her head. The answers could wait, there was no time to lose.

‘Myriel, I have to brew a potion, or Ildi will die.’ she muttered.

Myriel nodded amongst her tears.

‘What do you need, Triss?’ she asked.

The sorceress fell into thinking.

‘I saw some wolfsbane and celandine around the ravine, I think some of those might be enough.’

Myriel nodded and stood up.

‘I immediately get some.’

Within a moment, she was gone and Triss remained alone with the unconscious elf and the human. She kept fondling Ildi’s pale face, but her eyes kept going back to Isengrim. She sighed, then slowly undid the ties of her cloak and laid it on the elf.

_He helped Ildi, after all… but why?_

She remembered that fateful night, years ago. The mages gathered at the island of Thanedd after the first wars with Nilfgaard, hoping to come to an agreement about whom they should support in the upcoming years: the Northern Realms, Nilfgaard, or should they remain neutral? Then mages employed by Nilfgaard and their forces, including Francesca Findabair and the Scoia’tael, imposed an attack on the gathering. Yen and Ciri disappeared, Triss only could save Geralt in the last moment… They chased for Ciri for a long time, but the events had their impact on others as well.

Faoiltiarna didn’t get his promised due for his role in the coup. Francesca received the throne of Dol Blathanna for her help to Nilfgaard, but Isengrim and all the other elven officers, including Iorveth who hoped for liberty, were deceived, given to the Northern Kingdoms after concluding the Peace of Cintra at the end of the war. Triss knew the story: only two of the officers were able to escape. Iorveth remained and became the deadly and vengeful Woodland Fox, but Triss thought that Isengrim left the Northern Realms for good.

_Why did he come back?_

The Iron Wolf slowly started to awaken. He moaned, pressing his hand on his temples as he sat up. He soon noticed the cloak on him and he gazed at Triss with eyes wide open. He looked so confused that the sorceress couldn’t help but laugh.

‘I told you that we don’t want to harm you.’ she said. ‘I only came to find my friend.’

Isengrim raised an eyebrow as he slowly looked around, but did not comment on her statement. He looked at the unconscious Ildico, then back to Triss.

‘Were you together on that infamous mission?’ he asked.

_So Ildi told him about that._

Triss saw no point in denial, but she hesitated. Should she tell the Iron Wolf that Iorveth accused the human laying there with betrayal? Although the sorceress was genuinely surprised by the Iron Wolf in the last few hours, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would react to that.

‘Yes. We lost each other in the Cysgodol Palace’s garden and we had to escape, had to leave her behind.’ she said finally. ‘ But I had to find her.’

The Iron Wolf gave her a mocking smile, but his voice was unexpectedly gentle.

‘You wouldn’t make a fine general, _daerienn_. Who falls behind is left behind.’

Triss felt the tears building up in her eyes again. She gulped to fight them back.

‘I left many people alone in my life.’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t let her. She has to testify, she has to…’ She cut off her words, fearing she would say too much, but Isengrim was observant.

‘Testify?’ he asked. ‘For what?’

Triss sighed.

‘Iorveth is in danger. She is the only one who can save him.’

She didn’t expect what happened: Isengrim started to laugh.

‘This story…’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Well, I hope she’ll make a recovery and I can listen to the full, unabridged version. It just gets better and better!’

Triss scoffed, but didn’t oppose.

‘How did you meet?’ she asked instead. ‘Why did you help her?’

Isengrim shrugged.

‘I had things to do around the Cysgodol Palace, she just popped in front of my feet, out of the lake. And why did I help her?’ He looked away from Triss, gazing in the distance. ‘Let’s say she convinced me I should do that. We were on our way to Gulet when she fell ill… we had to stop.’

At that moment, a hand grasped the sorceress’s arm weakly and a faint moaning came from the sheets.

‘Triss…’

The sorceress bent over to Ildi. She finally opened her eyes, but her sight was still hazed with a mist of fever.

‘My dear!’ Triss embraced her shoulders and held her body close. She frightenedly noticed how fragile she was. ‘My dear, I’m here now, everything will be all right!’

‘Triss, I’m sorry… I didn’t… Chulainn… died… Miklos is dead...’

The sorceress gently caressed the smuggler’s face.

‘Hush, darling, don’t speak.’

Ildico didn’t listen to her; probably she didn’t even hear her. She looked back at the sorceress with trembling lips.

‘Is Iorveth safe…? Please, Triss… save him… the quiver...’

‘We will help him, Ildi.’ Triss muttered, then she whispered a sleeping spell. She felt the smuggler’s limbs becoming flaccid as she fell into a deep slumber. The sorceress gently laid her back in the bed.

‘Can you help her, _daerienn_?’

Triss looked at Isengrim. The Iron Wolf’s face was inscrutable.

‘I’ll try.’ she said in a low tone. ‘I hope I arrived in time.’

Isengrim’s eyes turned to the smuggler.

‘If it didn’t sound most ridiculous, I’d bet she’s fallen for that prick.’

Triss blinked, but then she realized Isengrim was talking about Iorveth. Of course, they had been comrades for a time. She didn’t answer and looked at the Iron Wolf with a telling half-smile.

She had to laugh again at the face Isengrim made.

‘You are just jerking me around, aren’t you?’ he asked, but after a few moments, as Triss didn’t respond, he shook his head. ‘No, no, you don’t. What the hell… the world is truly turning upside down.’

Triss bit on her lips; seeing the famous elf so confused was quite funny, but she didn’t want to humiliate him more than necessary.

‘I thought you left the Northern Kingdoms for good.’ she said silently, changing the subject.

Isengrim looked back at her. Triss shivered under his gaze.

‘Up until some months ago, I thought the same.’ he answered, and his voice was bitter and sad, and for the first time, the sorceress could see the pain of the betrayed soldier who fought for his homeland in vain.

‘What changed?’

He lowered his head. Triss hardly could hear his answer.

‘Hope. Hope for a change. An alliance that could finally turn the tide in the North and bring the freedom we always wanted.’

Triss immediately thought about the noblewoman in Cysgodol. The negotiations going on between Queen Meve of Lyria and Duchess Francesca of Dol Blathanna… and the possible alliance of Queen Saskia of the Pontar Valley.

_Could he be talking about that?_

‘But why…’ she started, but Isengrim lifted up his hand, stopping her.

‘Triss, I will explain everything later.’ he said and now he spoke as a commander once more. ‘If I understand well, Iorveth’s life is in your friend’s hand. We have to make her fit enough so that she would be able to be taken to Gulet. I know people there who can be to our help.’

‘I’ll do my part.’ the sorceress said sourly. It did not escape her that Isengrim called her by her name for the first time. ‘But why should we trust you?’

The Iron Wolf grinned with the usual mock in his eyes.

‘It paid off for your friend.’ He poked with his chin in the direction of Ildico. ‘You will survive it as well, possibly.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I can't tell you how grateful I am for your support. I had a lot of issues going on, for a time I even thought I wouldn't have the strength to continue this thing, but your kindness has given me the courage. Thanks a lot, it's just as your story as it is mine! I try to continue it as soon as I can; I can't promise a swift update, but I'll do my best.
> 
> Once again, if anything is not clear, feel free to ask.


	29. Crossroads

_There is a small ravine, hidden in deep forest, southwest from the Dol Blathannan mountains. It is known as the shortest way between Vengerberg and Gulet._

_During the autumn of 1271, the dark valley became a fearful legend among the Nilfgaardians._

_The Black Ones often scouted there before the emperor’s maneuvers actually had begun, but soon their soldiers started to vanish. Those who turned up alive were violently tortured, tumbling on the brink of death._

_The very few who managed to escape told about shadows between the trees, wraiths of the forests, a melody of flute starting to play and people starting to die. Their comrades usually died within a heartbeat, and nothing earthly could move with such might._

_Then a scout, who was a slightly bit braver than frightened, managed to bring an arrow, torn out from the corpse of one of his comrades. The stationing lieutenants declared: no demons live within those forests, but Scoia’tael; and offered a huge amount of money for every killed elf._

_No elf has ever been captured, yet the Black Ones continued to fall for years.The mysterious attackers became more and more vicious and no one knew when would their massacres end._

_In reality, the legendary attackers remained active for one or two weeks the most. But people love to tell stories._

* * *

The horse dealer at the outskirts of Vergen was heavily wiping off the sweat from his forehead after a few minutes.

‘But Master Geralt, look at his pastern! He is perfectly healthy, I tell you!’

The white haired witcher’s face was unfathomable as he examined the applejack horse.

‘My last offer is 500 orens, not a copper more.’ he said.

The dealer rolled his eyes.

‘All right, but only because you are who you are… His name is Autumn, he is yours now!’ he said as he took away the sack of money from Geralt who jumped up into the horse’s saddle at once.

‘Come on, Roach!’ he spurred and turned the horse away to start off at once from the dealer’s pen.

‘His name is not…’ cried the merchant after the witcher who already gallopped away into the distance, but then he just waved after him. ‘Oh, you know what? Fuck it.’

He walked back to his stand and decided that whoever said that the customer was always right, can plough it.

* * *

Geralt wondered for a moment: why did he even call the horse Roach?

_Because all of my horses were called Roach. Now I remember._

The horse was a good mount, responded well to his commands and gave a friendly neigh when Geralt slapped its neck playfully. And it had a relatively fast pace.

 _Not as fast as a portal would be, but I hate portals anyway_.

He was still tempted to turn back, to apologize to Triss, but in the end, he never did. He surprisedly found that, besides his wrath, he was confused. He couldn’t remember a single occasion when the sorceress objected to him so heavily, she always hung on his every word. Geralt simply didn’t understand what happened to her. Of course, Ildico told a convincing story - but he heard many convincing stories before that proved to be lies, and Triss also had her share of such adventures.

_I don’t understand._

He now regretted turning his back on the sorceress, but there was nothing he could do about it anymore. He wondered for a while that now would be his chance to rush off; go to Kaer Morhen, return to the witcher’s path. He was not an intelligence agent, he was a monster slayer, a witcher, who traditionally never takes a side.

Geralt nearly laughed out loud. He fought for Vergen’s independence, helped an elven terrorist, supported a dragon queen - that’s quite a bit for not taking a side.

 _I should have left this bullshit behind before it has even started. No one would ask in Zerrikania if I really killed a king_.

Yet, if nothing else than the thought of Iorveth being in distress didn’t let him leave the road. They’ve been comrades for better or for worse for a long time; Iorveth was something very similar to something that Geralt could call a friend. And there’s no neutral path when friends are in danger.

From Iorveth, his thoughts diverged to Letho. The huge, muscular ex-witcher kingslayer who was spared by Geralt at Loc Muinne. He was quite similar to Iorveth as they both were very special kind of bastards; yet both of them ultimately aimed for the wellbeing of their people. Geralt wondered where could he be now. Did he get his due from the emperor? Geralt somehow doubted it. He wished he had known where the witcher from the School of the Viper dwelled; if Ildico’s story was at least partly true, Letho could have answered a lot of questions.

But of course, Geralt had no idea where to search for him, neither for Iorveth. _Why would things just be simple?_

There was only one thing he could be sure of: Iorveth moved to South when they escaped that godforsaken palace. South was a wide category, though. Where could he head? Lyria? Southern Aedirn?

He was on the brink of turning back, leaving behind the whole quest. After all, what would he do if he found Iorveth? Persuade him to go back to certain death? Geralt had his opinion about sacrifices that were made for ideals… but he had to remind himself that Iorveth was different. The elf fought decades for the concept of elven freedom; in his very own cynical way he really was the embodiment of romantic nonsense. After so many lost battles and hopeless years, he might choose to leave the Northern Realms, never to return - but he deserves the choice at least.

The question remained, though - how in the fresh hell would he find that elven bastard?

He had no choice but to set off south and hope to find a trail.

* * *

After a few days, as Geralt was moving down south along the Dol Blathannan mountain range, the amount of troops became a bit unsettling for him. It seemed like the Temerian army wouldn’t go home after the Loc Muinne summit; there were encampments, sentries, patrols roaming the countryside and the small villages on the road. Geralt gave his approval in his thoughts to the Temerian interrex, John Natalis, who obviously thought that the Nilfgaardian army should at least meet with some obstacles; with King Henselt, Demavend and Stennis dead, Kaedwen and Aedirn were on the brink of civil wars, they were hardly to be expected to raise forces in the near future. John Natalis was clever to recognize that if the Temerian forces do not keep vigil in Aedirn, Nilfgaard wouldn’t have to raise a finger to conquer the North.

_Queen Meve is a tough woman, but her country is small, she can’t stand up alone._

He couldn’t help but think about the old noblewoman in Cysgodol. What on earth was she up to? No matter how cannily Triss and Ildico spoke to her, somehow her whole concept seemed an overly idealistic dream. Francesca will never ally herself with humans. _Or would she?_

_And Saskia?_

Geralt knew that the state of the Pontar Valley will stand alone, no matter how heroic its defenders were. They were simply too few to face such an army like that of Nilfgaard; and gods help them if their neighbours turn against them. There probably still were supporters of Stennis amongst the Aedirnian nobles; what if they launch a campaign against the fragile state, where the general had just been given to the wolves?

 _This is hopeless_.

‘Halt! Where ya might be goin’, vagrant?’

Geralt twitched back the reins. Roach whinnied angrily.

‘Careful, careful…’ The witcher looked down on the Temerian soldiers who stopped him. ‘My horse is not a friendly one.’

‘Aye, we are not friendly guys either.’ said one of the soldiers, stepping forward. He was wearing the badge of a lieutenant. ‘I asked, where you might be going? This is military district, no civilians are allowed!’

‘I’ve been called many names but civilian was rarely one of them…’ Geralt said lowly, but the soldiers were not at their best sense of humour.

‘Well, I can call you by other names, if you wish it so much… Get off that mount at once!’ the lieutenant shouted and Geralt was at the brink of loosing his patience, but at that moment, the hoarse voice of a woman sounded.

‘Back off, lieutenant!’ A small but well-built, short blond haired woman approached to the little group. ‘We know this man.’

The soldiers seemed reluctant, but the woman waved at them.

‘If you have a problem, you can ask Commander Roche, he’ll be happy to help you!’

The name made quite an impression; the soldiers gave them a suspicious glance, then slunk away.

‘Ves!’ Geralt recognized the woman. ‘Long time no see!’

The woman halted and looked at Geralt with raised eyebrows.

‘Hello, Geralt.’ she greeted the witcher. ‘In trouble again?’

‘Well… not me.’ The witcher dismounted. ‘How are you doing? What are you doing here?’

‘What we do best, fighting.’ Ves said sourly. ‘Of course, it’s not the same after that son of a bitch Henselt eliminated the Blue Stripes…’

Geralt nodded empathically. He heard a thing or two about the events in the Kaedweni camp after Saskia has been freed.

‘I’m very sorry.’ he said.

Ves gave him a little half smile, with a devilish spark in her eyes.

‘Well, it’s not like Vernon hadn’t pay back that pig for everything.’

Geralt stared at her for a moment, then quickly put the tiles together. He heard about the assassination of Henselt, but rumour always said that his ministers and generals were behind the murder. He never would have thought…

‘Vernon killed Henselt?’ he gasped.

Ves nodded, smiling.

Geralt shook his head in disbelief. He remembered his first meeting with Roche when the only thing that saved him was that the Temerian was much smarter than to believe what seemed obvious at first: Geralt was found next to the corpse of Foltest, so he must have been his killer. Still, it took a few months to fully convince Roche about his innocence.

‘Vernon Roche, the kingslayer…? I must say, I’m quite impressed.’ he laughed.

Ves didn’t join him. Her face was still bright, but a shadow of resentment appeared in her eyes.

‘You missed quite a lot while you were playing around with your funny Scoia’tael friend.’ she said.

Geralt’s laughter froze and he shrugged. He knew Vernon and Ves would never understand why he helped Iorveth - still, he remembered Roche’s invaluable assistance when he was after Triss in the Nilfgaardian camp. Roche didn’t understand him, but he helped him anyways - that was something that Geralt would never forget.

‘I’m sorry, Ves, but I had other matters to tend to, as I do now.’ he said then looked around. ‘Did you join the Redanian army?’

Now, Ves laughed.

‘Fuck no. We are here under the command of John Natalis.’ she said and sneered. ‘But why don’t you come and have a drink with us? I think Vernon would be happy to see you.’

Geralt looked around.

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘No.’ Ves replied. ‘We have too much vodka. Help us destroy it and then you can go anywhere you wish.’

Geralt smirked. Ves and Roche might know something about the situation on the war borders, anyway.

‘All right, ma’am. Show the way.’

* * *

As Geralt followed Ves into the relatively luxurious tent, placed near to General Natalis’s headquarters, a rash voice sounded from beneath the shadowy space.

‘Ves! What the hell, at last! I thought you fucking ran away!’

It’s definitely Vernon.

‘Calm down, Roche.’ Ves shrugged. ‘I brought you a guest.’

She stepped away from Geralt and finally, the witcher and the ex-special forces commander stood face to face.

Vernon looked just the same as Geralt remembered him, though somehow younger, and finally, the witcher recognized why. Vernon’s frown, his despising expression was just the same he remembered, but he wasn’t wearing his chaperone: and his boyish, shaggy, light brown hair made him look like the adolescent version of himself.

‘Hello, Vernon.’ the witcher said, taking advantage of the fact that Roche, apparently, simply had no words upon seeing him again. ‘Where’s that thing from your head?’

Vernon immediately closed his mouth and grumbled irritatedly as he got to his chaperone and put it on. Geralt couldn’t help but smirk.

‘Geralt of Rivia, am I supposed to be happy to see you again?’ Vernon barked.

‘Not at all, Roche, but I was promised vodka, you could offer me a glass instead of the formalities.’ the witcher answered, but Ves was already there with the beverages.

Geralt raised his glass towards Roche who rolled his eyes then drank from his cup.

‘And what the hell you are doing here?’ he asked. ‘I guess you don’t plan to join our army.’

‘How did you even end up here, Vernon?’ Geralt asked. ‘Wasn’t you supposed to go back to Temeria, to help the young princess Anais?’

‘Anais is safe, she was taken to Mahakam until the war is over… as for me, my place is here now.’ Vernon sniffed.

Geralt nodded.

‘I heard about your accomplishment.’ He took a side glance to Ves, then back to Vernon. ‘Did you really… kill Henselt?’

Vernon growled again in anger, but also a flicker of sadness flew through his face.

‘The whoreson got what he deserved.’ he whispered.

‘That I’m sure of.’

‘You are such a know-it-all man, aren’t you?’

‘I’m no man.’ Geralt retorted.

‘And I’ve got no boobs.’ Ves remarked dryly.

Geralt and Vernon choked on their drinks, then both stared at Ves. In Vernon’s eyes, pure terror could be seen. As for Geralt, he was quite grateful that as a witcher, he couldn’t blush.

‘All right, all right, lads.’ Ves drank her last drops. ‘Have fun, I’ve got things to do.’

With that, she left the tent, leaving Vernon and Geralt stunned. Roche snorted and drank his leftover.

‘So, are you now willing to answer me what do you want here, or will you continue asking back like you would be so interested in our fate?’ he said, displeasure gleaming in his black eyes.

Geralt thought about trying to explain him that he was, indeed, interested in their fate. Roche was not obliged to help him and he still did, more than once, and didn’t seem to really care about the fact that the witcher was hullabalooing around with his arch enemy. He really wanted to explain, but after a moment of consideration, he saw no point in it. His upcoming questions would surely destroy whatever impression he would have made, anyway.

‘I’m looking for Iorveth.’

Vernon looked back at Geralt, right in the eye.

‘You are yanking me around.’ he said. ‘Did you release your elven buddy’s hand?’

‘Don’t be an ass, Roche.’ Geralt snorted. ‘I will tell you the whole story if you resist the temptation and don’t make any remarks until I’m finished, all right?’

‘The hell.’ Roche leaned back on his chair. ‘Speak, but gimme another cup of vodka first.’

Geralt sighed. He refilled Roche’s glass, then started to speak.

Roche kept his word and didn’t say anything while Geralt told him the tale. After the witcher finished, he just drank from his cup and shrugged.

‘I hope you don’t intend to live as a writer when you retire.’ he said. ‘I’ve heard many shitty adventure fictions, but this might top them all.’

‘You are so helpful, did I tell you that before?’

Vernon sighed.

‘Miss Ferenczy was always a peculiar personality… I wouldn’t be surprised if you'd see her again.’

‘I’m not interested in seeing her again.’ Geralt said dryly. ‘I have to find that elven scoundrel. I might say it is a matter beyond the border of the Pontar Valley.’

‘For a witcher, you meddle with politics way too much, Geralt.’

‘You’re telling me? I don’t know how I always end up in situations like this… they just find me, I dunno.’

‘You make friends with elven terrorists and you really don’t know why? For Melitele’s shining ass, I hope that queen of the Pontar Valley has a plan B.’

‘So can you help me in anything or can I go and continue my search for that needle in a fucking haystack?’ Geralt asked, loosing his patience, but Roche waved at him.

‘There, there, calm down.’ he said. ‘I haven’t had the luck to meet that whoreson in the past months, but there might be someone who probably can help you… if she is still alive.’

‘What?’

‘We captured a Nilfgaardian officer a few days ago, she stumbled out of the forest with a severe thigh wound. The wound was infected and she suffered terrible blood loss...she told us everything we needed provided that we stitch her up, but I’m afraid that the help came late for her... for such an easy treason.’

‘She was ready to tell everything?’ Geralt was surprised. ‘I don’t know Nilfgaardians for being so easy telltales.’

‘Well, Nilfgaardians are really not, but this bitch is probably from Zerrikania, working as a mercenary for Nilfgaard… of course she won’t take unnecessary risks for a land that is not her own.’ Roche said sourly. ‘She talked about a half-eyed elf in the forest who attacked her… if you are lucky, that might be your half-eyed elf.’

Geralt’s heart brightened in a moment.

‘Can you take me to her?’

Roche rolled his eyes.

‘Would you at least let me finish my drink?’ he barked. ‘After that… well, whatever.’

‘Thanks, Vernon. I owe you.’

Roche’s mouth narrowed into a thin line.

‘The number of times when I heard that phrase.’

* * *

The medical tent was relatively empty. Not many beds were occupied, there were some people with minor wounds, a few sleeping. Some medics walked along the tent, checking their patients.

‘You must be the world’s fiercest army’ Geralt said as they walked along the bed lines. ‘It seems that you are invincible.’

‘Just wait until the first big battle, witcher.’ Roche said dryly, then pointed at a bed placed at the end of a tent.

A dark-skinned woman lay there, her eyes closed and sunken. Geralt admired her features but noticed the scars running up and down on her face and neck. Her strongly built body still reminded of her warrior past, even though it was obvious she had weakened much. The stench of rotting flesh flew around her; she was covered with a blanket, but Geralt was sure her wounds were infected.

‘Should we wake her?’ Geralt whispered, but before Roche could answer, the woman silently spoke, still not opening her eyes.

‘I’m not sleeping, gentlemen’ she said, her voice was raspy. ‘Continue your interrogations, I don’t really mind.’

‘You speak our language?’ Geralt asked surprisedly.

The woman opened her eyes at last. They were dark, like black obsidian. Fatigue and the last remains of cheekiness gleamed in her gaze.

‘In my job, it would spectacularly narrow down possibilities if I only spoke my mother tongue.’ she said quietly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Why are you so eager to tell us that you know?’ the witcher asked and the woman laughed softly.

‘Who cares if you know what I know? Now that I’m a Temerian prisoner, my Nilfgaardian paycheck would never arrive anyway.’

‘Scavenger!’ Roche spat, but the woman just gently shook her head.

‘You, faithful soldiers… money is a transparent, clear thing. Faith is not.’ she whispered. ‘Tell me, are you friends with that one-eyed elven bastard? The one I told you about, the one who gave this to me?’ she tapped her right thigh gently. ’You think quite alike.’

Roche scoffed. ‘In your dreams, ma’am, perhaps.’ he said.

‘Where did you see that elf?’ Geralt asked quickly before Roche would have gotten away with his emotions.

‘You mean Iorveth?’

‘Do you know his name?’

‘Of course I know… we served in the same regiment during the second war with Nilfgaard.’ she said slowly, catching her breath. ‘That bastard…’

‘Why did he do this to you?’

‘Why? To show off, of course…’ she whispered. ‘He was always such a buffoon, showing around elven freedom like some kind of banner… and what a due he got for that…’

‘Not like your precious money would have gotten you that far.’ Roche remarked.

The woman laughed lightly again.

‘I am a soldier, Temerian, it’s a job of soldiers to die… No one can tell that I performed my job badly.’

She lay in silence, then Geralt gently touched her arm.

‘One last question and I let you sleep in peace. Where did you meet him?’

The woman breathed in a slow pace, her breast moving gently.

‘Take the road from Vengerberg to Gulet, witcher.’ she answered. ‘But don’t enter the ravine if you want to live.’

‘Well… I have dealings with that elf myself.’ Geralt answered. ‘Cannot really escape that ravine.’

The woman quietly hissed.

‘You can be sure, the next time I meet that bastard, he will die. But first… I may plough him.’ She took a deep breath, closed her eyes with a faint smile, her head gently tipped to the side.

Roche watched her with a sour face.

‘I’ll never understand why so many women want to bed that elven scoundrel...’ he murmured. ‘Come on, Geralt, we know enough. Let her sleep.’

‘Vernon…’

‘What?’

The witcher watched the woman closely.

‘She is not asleep.’ he said in a low tone.

Vernon’s muscles stiffened as he looked at the woman. By that time, he noticed as well: she was not breathing anymore.

‘Well, another nameless human on Iorveth’s list.’ he said, lowering his head.

The witcher sighed and stood up.

‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

Vernon smiled sourly.

‘Say hello to Iorveth for me.’ he said and looked at dead woman. ‘And while you are at that, for her, as well.’

* * *

‘Well, if that’s not the witcher who always likes to meddle in someone else’s business.’ the hoarse voice of the Scoia’tael commander sounded sadly but a hint of warmth was hiding in its layers. ‘What brings you here, vatt’ghern?’

Geralt nodded to Iorveth as a greeting and looked at the elf closely.

He had no problem in finding the ravine. The Scoia’tael elves remembered him, so he had no problem in getting to Iorveth either.

He wasn’t sure about continuing the conversation, though.

Though they departed only a few days ago, Iorveth seemed to have transformed. He didn’t wear his red bandana anymore; his wounded eye was covered with a black piece of cloth, leaving his facial scar mostly unhidden, as well as his dark, tangled hair. His remaining eye was hollow and frighteningly empty.

‘I told you I would find you.’ the witcher said.

‘How romantic.’ Iorveth scoffed silently as he sat down next to the campfire and motioned the witcher to sit next to him.

Geralt obeyed.

‘A woman told me where to go.’ he said. ‘A woman who said you wounded her.’

Something flew across Iorveth’s face.

‘Naira...’ he said silently. ‘Let’s say she got in my way.’

‘Well, she will not do that anymore… I saw her die.’

Iorveth sat motionless, his face was unfathomable.

‘And you came here to tell me that?’ he asked after a pause.

‘Not quite… just thought you might be interested.’ Geralt said silently.

Iorveth’s face flinched.

‘One dh’oine less. Your point is…?’

Geralt sighed, looking at his friend.

‘You’ve changed.’

‘Did I?’ Iorveth shrugged.

Geralt looked at him attentively. _Really, did he change?_

He turned his head to Iorveth’s second-in-command. Ciaran stood away from them to let them talk privately. The other elves sat a bit further, around a bigger campfire. They were like statues of an old age, like the sparkle of life would have left them.

‘Do you intend to create a second Flotsam forest here, Iorveth?’ he asked suddenly.

For the first time during their meeting, a shadow of pain flew over Iorveth’s face, but it disappeared just as quickly.

‘We’ll get by somehow.’ he said quietly, the flames dancing in his remaining eye.

The witcher waited for a while, but as Iorveth didn’t say anything else, he saw no point in hesitating further.

‘Iorveth, I bring a message from Saskia.’

The elf jerked up his head.

‘So you managed to get back to Vergen.’ he said. ‘Is Triss safe as well?’

Geralt strained out a nod.

‘She is, but… we had a disagreement about her... friend.’ he said grudgingly. ‘We parted ways in Vergen.’

Iorveth sneered, but he didn’t reply, just closed his eye. A frown appeared between his eyebrows and a small sigh left his lips. Geralt was surprised to see that Iorveth’s face was full with agony.

_When was the last time when a betrayal caused him such a pain, I wonder?_

‘I don’t think we will hear about the smuggler anymore, Iorveth.’ Geralt said, trying to comfort the elf. ‘What matters now is that Saskia awaits your response.’

Iorveth lifted up his head.

‘And what does she expect from me? I cannot go back, I’m sure she knows it.’

Geralt sighed.

‘Well, it’s kind of complicated.’

And he told Iorveth about how he and Triss got back to Vergen, how Filavandrel showed up in Saskia’s room and what offer did he have for the town, in exchange for Iorveth giving up himself.

When the witcher finished, Iorveth sat in silence for a while.

‘What the actual fuck have I just heard?’ he asked then, and as his eye gleamed in anger, it seemed that the reminiscence of his old fire has returned into him. ‘Am I really to play a clown in that old geezer’s show?’

He stood up, not being able to sit idle.

‘And how can Saskia tell me to do this, what does she think?’ he burst out. ‘Fuck, am I always to be a puppet in someone’s hands? First Nilfgaard, then a dh’oine slut, and Saskia betrays me as well?’

‘No, Iorveth, you misunderstand.’ Geralt said. ‘Saskia wants you to do what you will. She doesn’t want to jerk you around. If you do not want to do this, she understands… she wants you to act as you want.’

Iorveth stopped and closed his eye again, inhaling deeply.

‘No, for fuck’s sake, I won’t go back!’ he snapped. ‘Filavandrel abandoned our people just as Francesca Findabair did, he has no right to judge me… no one has the right to judge me!’

‘As I said, Saskia doesn’t force you, she doesn’t even ask you to go back.’ Geralt repeated patiently. ‘You are free to do what you want to do.’

Iorveth put his hands on his hips and shook his head, snarling. But he couldn’t continue.

‘Iorveth!’ Ciaran shouted. ‘We have guests!’

Iorveth jerked up his head and Geralt jumped up.

Three figures approached in the darkness. As the first one stepped out into the light, Iorveth cried out.

‘Myriel!’ he shouted. ‘How dare you to show your face here?’

The she-elf bit on her lower lip, but the next figure stepped behind her, lowering his cape.

‘I suggest you listen to what your soldier has to say, Iorveth, and wait before you break her neck, _fraere_.’

Staring at the scarred elf, Iorveth’s jaw dropped.

‘Isengrim!’ he said, finally.

‘The Iron Wolf?’ Geralt asked, just as surprised.

Iorveth’s lips curved into a smile.

‘Brother!’ he stepped to the newly arrived elf and hugged him happily. Isengrim pat on his back.

‘There, there, buddy, I missed you.’ he said with a sarcastic hint.

Iorveth stepped back to look at him again.

‘What brings you here?’ He looked at Myriel again. ‘How did you meet?’

'Isengrim Faoiltiarna wanted to meet you, commander' Myriel replied. 'I remembered where your camp was...

'... and I did the tracking job.' Isengrim added. 'No offense, brother, but you are behind your best hiding days.' he smirked.

'You are the only tracker better than me, _fraere,_ so you may shut it.' Iorveth sneered. 'Why are you here? Why did you come back to the Northern Realms?'

‘We’ll tell everything in due time… but first, you have to talk to someone.’ Isengrim looked back above his shoulder to their last companion.

The third figure emerged from the shadows and as he pulled back his cloak, the firelight revealed the features of an older elf, whose shining blond hair fell to his chest, nearly down to his waist.

He looked at Iorveth grimly and the Scoia’tael commander and the witcher needed some moments to recognize him.

‘Saeros.’ Geralt whispered.

The elf nodded but his cold eyes didn’t leave Iorveth’s gaze. The Scoia’tael commander stood as a stone. Then a flame of wrath appeared on his face and he could hardly restrain his voice.

‘I should kill you here and now.’

Isengrim stepped in front of Saeros, defending him with his body.

‘I wouldn’t recommend doing that, brother.’ he said.

Iorveth looked back at the Iron Wolf in astonishment.

‘And why the hell not? His little dh’oine bitch made us homeless again, she betrayed us!’

Saeros spoke silently but acid was in his words.

‘Do you think I would have come to you, was that the case? Do you think that your comrades would trust me then?’ he said. ‘This nickname… Woodland Fox. You got it as some kind of a joke, right?’

Isengrim interrupted.

‘Iorveth, if I were you, I would listen to what Saeros has to say.’ he said.

Iorveth’s face was a clear map of anger, wrath and confusion. Finally, he walked back to the tree trunk and sat down.

‘Then I suggest you start talking very fast, golden boy, or not even the Iron Wolf can save you from being chopped up.’

Saeros shrugged and sat down to another trunk.

‘Be my guest.’

And he started to speak.  



	30. Paths of mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ofratko for the suggestions! <3

‘Do you use your bow often, Fox?’

Geralt raised an eyebrow and Iorveth frowned.

‘That's a way to start a conversation.’ he said.

‘I’m serious.’ Saeros looked at the bow stem arching on Iorveth’s back. ‘How often do you use that weapon?’

Iorveth’s eye gleamed suspiciously. ‘What are you aiming at, golden boy?’

Saeros closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

‘Take a look at your quiver.’

Iorveth looked at him for a moment, then reached for his quiver strapped on his side. He counted the arrows placed in it and examined it, then turned back to Saeros.

‘If you want to mock me…’

‘For fuck’s sake, you mock yourself!’ Saeros snapped. ‘Take a close look at that quiver!’

Iorveth seemed so confused for a moment that Geralt had to gulp back a chuckle as the one-eyed elf strapped down the quiver and took it into his hands, this time carefully examining it.

His hand suddenly stopped at the side pocket.

Geralt watched him. He noticed how Iorveth’s features stiffened.

‘What?’ he asked and the elf touched the side pocket again, clearly feeling something that should not have been there.

‘I never use this compartment.’ he murmured and reached into the pocket.

His face was somehow softened with surprise as he pulled out a small bunch of papers, full of handwriting.

The commander stared at the letters with blank face. He immediately recognized them.

‘Arondir’s correspondence.’ he whispered. He looked up to Saeros with despair in his face. ‘It was with me… all this time…?’

Saeros gave him a derisive half-smile.

‘There, there. I speak with a much easier heart if no one threatens me with execution.’

Iorveth looked back at him, then at Isengrim and Myriel who sat beside the golden-haired elf.

‘What the seven levels of hell is going on?’ he asked in a low voice.

Saeros answered instead of the two Scoia’tael elves.

‘After many, many years of work and efforts in vain, we finally have a chance to finish our wars and bring peace to the people of the Northern Realms… and now you hold the key in your hands.’

‘These are the pieces of evidence that could bring Arondir down.’ Iorveth said impatiently. ‘How are these slips of paper are supposed to… bring peace, whatever would that mean?’

Saeros and Isengrim exchanged looks, then both looked back to Iorveth.

‘Listen well, Fox. It’s a long tale.’ said the golden haired elf, then he stood up and walked a few paces.

* * *

‘I was born in the slum of Novigrad. I lived the fairly average life of an elven child: my parents tried to get by, we tried to stay alive with my brothers and sisters as well as trying to escape any signs of humankind. We were told to avoid humans. We were told about the consequences of human oppression every day. When the city guard burnt down a few houses in our neighbourhood, I understood why. The elves living there had one sin: they failed to pay the taxes bestowed upon them by the city council. From that on, I thought I understood why my people hated the dh’oine so much.

Then one day, a human merchant arrived in town. He was kind to us, children. He let us play with his goods, even if we didn’t buy from him. He had a daughter, almost our age, and she played with us often.

My parents thought that he must have been a spy, they didn’t trust him; a notion that was shared by all the adults in our neighbourhood. Then one day, our blacksmith walked up to the human merchant and told him something. I don’t remember what did he say. I only remember that the merchant shouted back, they started to fight, others joined in... and the merchant was beaten to death within a few minutes. I don’t know what happened to his daughter, I was so afraid when the beating started that I ran away and never looked back, never returned to my parents’ home… But I still hear her screams in my nightmares.’

Saeros paused for a while and walked back to the campfire.

‘He could have been a spy, indeed.’ said Iorveth darkly and Saeros scoffed.

‘And his daughter? She was innocent!’ he spat. ‘You know what, Fox? I don’t care if he was a spy. Fuck, he could have been a spy by me. My people still killed him without knowing, just because they thought him to be one. And that little girl…’

Iorveth didn’t say anything, just sat by the fire with a face like that of a stone statue. He watched Saeros who continued his tale.

‘I didn’t know what to do. I was taught to hate the dh’oine in my whole life, but then… my people destroyed a family, simply because of prejudice, just like humans destroy elven families. Because of who they were, because they shouldn’t be there where they were. I never wanted to do such a thing. Soon I… met others who agreed with me and for years, decades, we built our business and slowly expanded our cause.’

‘With that funny dwarven companion of yours?’

Saeros looked at Iorveth with sadness in his eyes.

‘Well, you might be relieved to hear that he is… no more.’

Iorveth’s jaw dropped and Geralt was shocked as well.

‘What happened to him?’ he asked.

‘His health was… fragile.’ Saeros closed his eyes. ‘He didn’t survive our moving from Vengerberg to Gulet.’

Iorveth jumped up.

‘So it’s you… you were behind your disappearance!’ he said, waving. ‘We’ve been searching for the Songbirds high and low!’

‘Luckily, you didn’t find anyone. There are times when a low profile is needed.’ Saeros said grimly. ‘Don’t tell me you never had to hide, Fox. You, who are an expert in covering your own tracks. I may not believe it.’

Iorveth snarled at him, like a wild animal, then without a word, motioned Saeros to go on.

The golden-haired elf sat down again. ‘Needless to say, our viewpoints were considered quite radical, we had to work in secrecy, in silence, for many years. Then fourteen years ago, one day, we had a prestigious guest: the elven lord whom you know as the Lord of the Silver Tower.’

‘Filavandrel came to you?’ Geralt asked surprisedly.

Saeros nodded.

‘He came to us and told us how he desired to see peace between humans and nonhumans. He came to an understanding that Dol Blathanna and the elves would come to an end if they do no try to coexist with humans. He saw Aelirenn’s rebellion and tried to lead his people for two hundred years after that, but all he managed to achieve was to slow down their decay.’

‘I’m so amazed, what a philantropist our ex-king had become.’ Iorveth said sarcastically. Saeros frowned and a rebuke was on his lips, but at that moment, Geralt murmured:

‘Fourteen years ago…’

The elves looked at him curiously.

‘What happened then, Gwynbleidd?’ Isengrim asked.

Geralt slowly shook his head, like he himself hadn’t believed what he was going to say.

‘I met Filavandrel fourteen years ago. He nearly killed me and Dandelion, but something happened and he spared us… I wouldn’t have thought that it had made such a big impact on him.’

‘He spoke about a revelation.’ Saeros said quietly.

Geralt nodded. ‘In a manner of speaking.’ 

Iorveth rolled his eye. 'This was that Dana Méadbh-intermission you spoke of at Cysgodol?'

'Aye' Geralt nodded.

Iorveth's expression was halfway between utter desperation and the deepest despise. ‘Fisstech parties must have been common pastime activities in Dol Blathanna, it seems.’ he growled.

‘Fisstech or not, Filavandrel wanted a way to solve the situation’ Saeros said despisingly. ‘He heard about our doings and wanted to ask for our assistance… And that was when the true trouble started. There had been no true peace between the races for centuries…. At first, we wanted to make sure that the large surrounding city states declare fellowship with Dol Blathanna. If Vengerberg, Gulet and Kalkar had formed an alliance with the remains of the Elven kingdom, soon it would have grown strong enough to declare its own borders and get back its lands… We thought that a strong association was needed to start the alliances. Something used for centuries for that purpose: a marriage.’

Iorveth buried his face in his palms and murmured something like ‘shit, why am I even listening to this’, but Geralt watched the blond elf attentively.

‘What kind of marriage?’ he asked.

Saeros gazed into the fire.

‘We had a business partner in Kalkar. A human merchant, who acted as an ambassador of Lyria in Upper Aedirn. He was a good man, a friend to nonhumans… and he had a daughter, just in the right age to be wedded. Filavandrel met heavy objections from his people, but finally, he suggested a noble elf, a commander of a smaller elven unit, who could marry the girl. He was not so young, but still in his fertile years; for a long time he heavily opposed Filavandrel’s idea, but something changed his mind and finally, he agreed to marry the ambassador’s daughter.’

‘An elven noble married an ambassador’s daughter?’ Geralt asked surprisedly. ‘It should have been a huge hit in the Northern Realms.’

‘It was kept as a secret. We couldn’t know how it would work out… and as it came to light, our foreboding was right.’ Saeros lowered his head, remorse was on his face. ‘After a while, Filavandrel told me that the commander started to behave more and more strangely, his wife was nowhere to be seen. The Kalkar ambassador came to me desperately that he had got no news about his daughter for a while… like she would have vanished. At the beginning, from time to time, she wrote letters to her father… but those letters weren’t like her at all. And the letters ceased coming as well.

So we searched for someone who could gain the commander’s favor, check what if he was up to and see if the young wife was well. That was when Letho offered his help to us.’

‘Letho…’ Geralt repeated, and Iorveth jerked his head up. For the first time during the evening, he listened carefully.

‘Yes... we had known him for a time, he did some jobs for us, and all in all, he shared our goal.’ Saeros said. ‘He managed to win the trust of the commander, but we hadn’t hear from him for a long time… until that night when he brought the little human wife to us, drenched in her own blood.’

Geralt felt his muscles stiffen, he could hardly move his jaw.

‘Ildico.’ he whispered and Iorveth looked up, his eye gleaming wildly.

‘What?’ he asked, nearly shouted.

Saeros waited a few moments before continuing. Isengrim and Myriel sat next to him in silence; judging by their faces, they had heard the story before.

‘It took a few days to stitch her up and bring her back from the brink of death.’ Saeros murmured and Iorveth leaned forward.

‘But what happened to her?’

Saeros looked back at him, shaking his head.

‘Letho saw everything.’ he murmured. ‘We were heavily deceived by the commander. He was a vile creature who hated the dh’oine, every one of them… and we sent that poor girl into his arms. He tortured her for two years, forbade her to keep contact with her family, frequently assaulted her in every possible way… when she became pregnant, she was safe for a relatively long time, but one night, her husband learned about another pogrom against nonhumans in a nearby city… and that was when he lost control. He beat the girl into a bloody pulp, ripped up her belly and tore the unborn child out, smashing it against the wall, shouting that he would not father a half-dh'oine abomination, he wouldn't let it live.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Letho came just in time. He knocked the commander out, gathered the girl and brought her to us. And she has remained with us ever since.’

His words were followed by deep silence. Iorveth sat on the tree trunk, he clenched his fists and gritting his teeth, he tried to regain his self-control, his chest moved heavily from heaving.

'Of all the men Letho killed, he didn't kill that whoreson.' he hissed, but Saeros waved dismissively.

'Arondir was an important person, his missing would have induced unfortunate mood within certain groups of the elven community. He was a known advocate of elven freedom at any price... and Letho didn't want to make a martyr. That could have easily led to another tragedic rebellion.... Believe me, at first, Miklos and I cursed that meat-mountain every day. The chaos was big enough... He should have left that poor creature die, at least all trails of this pitiful idea would have been covered. I don't know what we had thought... Marriages like this only work out in fairy tales, in much more decent circumstances.'

Geralt stared into the flames in shock.

‘So… this is why Miklos said that her story must be kept a secret.’ he realized. ‘If it came to light that an elf brutalized an ambassador’s daughter in such a way, massacres would engulf in all of the Northern Realms.’

Saeros nodded.

Iorveth finally found his voice.

‘Didn’t she seek revenge? Didn’t she want to go back to her family?’ he asked, dumbfoundedly.

Saeros scoffed.

‘At first? Of course. When she still lay in her sickbed, she wanted to stab me. She was still half-dead, freshly stitched, her wounds still bled and she managed to get herself out of her bed and dragged herself to my room, with a knife in her hand. She came to kill me. An elf tortured her... so she wanted to finish off any elves she met. The old story.’

‘And?’

The blond elf shrugged.

‘She got slapped once or twice.’ he said. ‘After that, she could be reasoned with.’

‘The things an educational smack can achieve.’ Isengrim remarked.

‘But why?’ Iorveth asked disbelievingly. ‘After that, why would you take her in, why would you do everything you did for her?’

‘Because we were responsible for her fate, Fox.’ Saeros answered. ‘She understood this and she understood what we were fighting for. She understood that not all elves were like her husband and we can never stop searching for peace, even if the whole world wants to be in war. Sooner or later, the circle must be broken... or we are lost.’

With that, he gave Iorveth a scornful look. The Scoia’tael commander snarled at him.

‘Well, your seed fell into fertile soil’ he said spitefully. ‘Your protégé had no difficulty in betraying me, only to fulfill that shady… what kind of purpose even is that? I gave my trust to you, to her... despite my better convictions, I tried to believe, when we saw what we saw in Vengerberg…’

‘You did so much, poor you, do you think so?’ Saeros asked back in a similar manner. ‘Yes, I heard about the abacus. I know how she marveled at that toy.’ His voice was full of despise. ‘Tell me, did you at least use that to your advantage? Was it pleasurable enough to bed her? Was that child to your liking, proud Aen Seidhe?’

There was a moment of frozen silence. Then a primeval anger flashed in Iorveth’s eye and he jumped up - Geralt got hold of him in the last moment before the Scoia’tael commander would have thrown himself on Saeros.

‘I’ll kill you, you city fop!’ Iorveth shouted wildly.

Saeros just shrugged, and gave him a smirk.

‘Be my guest… I wouldn’t be the first on your list.’

Geralt managed to push back Iorveth on the tree trunk, but Iorveth still tried to escape his grab. Geralt had to hold him back again.

Then Isengrim started to spoke, in a low, quiet voice.

‘Before you tear Saeros to pieces, you have to know something, _fraere_.’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t for Skylark in Cysgodol, you’d probably be dead.’

His comrade’s words finally calmed Iorveth enough that he sat down and Geralt could release him. He stared at Isengrim with eyes wide open.

‘What the fresh hell…?’ he muttered.

‘She was caught after she hid the letters in your quiver.’ Myriel continued. ‘Chulainn let you go if she agreed to stay with him as a captive.’

Iorveth looked puzzled.

‘Then how could she tell you all this? Why is she not in captivity?’

‘She managed to escape’ Isengrim grinned. ‘A surprising turn of event, don’t you think?’

Iorveth lowered his head.

‘No, not really.’ he admitted quietly and Geralt was astonished to hear reluctant admiration in his voice.

Yet still, many questions were unanswered.

‘What happened after Letho saved Ildico?’ the witcher asked. ‘Why didn’t the commander chase her? How is it connected with our Csygodol party? How could Ildico escape?’

Saeros nodded and continued to explain.

‘After we decided she would stay with us, her trail had to be hidden. She would never contact her family again… we designed a little accident to make them believe she was dead. As for her husband… well, he was smart enough to stay silent. I know for certain that he tried to find Ildico and Letho for a long time, but as she was completely lost, he had to give up his search. However, fear made him even more desperate in his hate for the dh’oine. He formed a rather formidable faction among the elves and by the time the Emperor had given back the elves Dol Blathanna, they were quite numerous. He even tried to dethrone Francesca, but Filavandrel still had enough power to make sure that he stays far from the throne… and he was given a honorary title of ambassador instead of that. But we know it was not enough for him. Ildico heard his plannings many times… he didn't even mind her, she was just a little, senseless dh'oine for him... Believe me, he has been working on taking the throne over for many, many years.’

‘Arondir.’ Iorveth whispered and Saeros nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘No wonder Ildico wanted to finish him off.’ Geralt said.

Saeros stood up again and walked up to the fire.

‘For years she had no chance to have her revenge. We didn't feed her hate. We knew she might not survive an encounter with Arondir. But then, she visited Vergen and heard about your… problems’ The words sounded like poison on his mouth. ‘She didn’t really think it through when she offered to help… but her idea couldn’t come in a better time for us.’

‘Meaning?’ Geralt asked suspiciously.

‘The time of mad human kings is over, witcher.’ Saeros explained. ‘We’ve been trying to forge an alliance between the duchess of Dol Blathanna and the queen of Lyria for a considerable amount of time, and if the sovereign of the Pontar Valley could also join that alliance… A force would arise, a force that would reshape the North, could face Nilfgaard and ensure such an empire where no one should ever fear again because of their race or because of the race of their neighbours. Meve of Lyria and Francesca Findabair want to see their land prosper and they can only do that in their own independent kingdoms.‘

‘This is why I am here as well, brother.’ The Iron Wolf leaned forward and put his elbows on his thighs. ‘When I got word from Saeros, I knew it was time. Dana Méadbh sees my soul, I never wanted to return, but this…’

‘This is a freaking romantic idiocy!’ Iorveth burst out. ‘Do you really think the dh’oine will step aside and watch how you redefine their world?’

‘Aedirn and Kaedwen has no king and Temeria’s interrex, John Natalis is a reasonable man.’

‘And how about Radovid?’ Geralt asked. ‘The Redanian king is not a kind flower.’

Isengrim smiled coldly.

‘He will soon be taken care of.’ he said. ‘He has a very… unsatisified wife, to be concise.’

‘Adda!’ Geralt realized. ‘Adda the White!’

‘Do you remember every one of your saved subjects so well, witcher?’ Isengrim asked, with laughter in his voice.

Geralt growled.

‘Did you at least hire Letho to put off Radovid from the chesstable?’

‘That is still a delicate matter, witcher’ Saeros interrupted. ‘We’ll see how that one plays out.’

‘Might I say it will not play out at all?’ Iorveth cut into his words. ‘Your whole plan… this is a fucking a nightmare! Francesca Findabair will never ally herself with the queen of Lyria, she is a puppet of Nilfgaard! She sent the Scoia’tael to be butchered! She did not care about the elven youngsters she sent to die! And are you telling me that she is concerned with the future of our people?’

‘You never cared how many nonhumans within the city walls would fall victim to the hunts and pogroms induced by your guerilla wars. Do you know how many corpses I buried who were killed by your troops? How many orphans were placed in our care?’ Saeros spat and jumped up. ‘Tell me, Woodland Fox, dare to tell me that you ever truly cared for your race!’

Iorveth’s body strained and for a moment, it seemed they would end up in a fight, but then, Isengrim’s voice broke the tenseness.

‘It’s not Francesca who hinders this fellowship.’ he said quietly. ‘She accepted Dol Blathanna’s throne, acted as the emperor wanted as long as she felt necessary, but her independence attempts are opposed by many in her court… led by your old friend, Arondir.’

Saeros stepped back and took a few deep breaths.

‘We might not succeed.’ he whispered. ‘But we have to try. If that bastard is cleared out of the way, and his scheme is revealed, we are one huge step further.’

‘Did Ildi know about this?’ Geralt asked and Saeros lightly shook his head.

‘Only a few things. We didn’t want her to be in greater danger than she already was… And it still cost more on her behalf than what we expected.'

A grim silence fell on them and Iorveth leaned forward with unease.

’Where is she?’ he asked tensely.

‘Aren’t you just the idol of care.’ Saeros remarked.

‘I don’t care a fucking fig for your morals, golden boy.’ Iorveth lost his patience. ‘Where is she?!’

The blond elf and Isengrim exchanged a worried gaze. The golden-haired elf lowered his head, while Isengrim looked at Iorveth.

‘She is in Gulet now. She is… not well, _fraere_.’

‘But what, how?’ Iorveth was confused. ‘Was she attacked?’

‘If you count the temperature of Cysgodol’s waters an attack.’ Isengrim said with dry sadness. ‘When I met her, she stumbled out of the castle’s lake, she was already unwell... and nearly puked on me when we fought our greeting fight‘ he sneered. ’At first, I couldn't imagine what she was up to, and I joined her, fearing what she might be planning, and later on, I learnt that she was somehow connected to Miklos and Saeros... We were halfway to Gulet when she lost her conscience. I tried to take care of her as much as I could, but a pneumonia is not that easy to cure, even wth my skills, even to our race. Even with a proper medic in sight… and we did not have that at our disposal.’

‘Pneumonia…?’ Iorveth stuttered. ‘Humans die from pneumonia…’

The Iron Wolf nodded sternly. ‘Had Myriel and that redhead _daerienn_ not found us, I don’t know if Skylark could have survived the past days.’

‘Triss?’ Geralt jumped up.

‘She is a master specimen of her kind, vatth’gern.’ There was a shadow of gentle sarcasm in Isengrim’s voice. ‘She immediately brew some potions, and made your little Skylark strong enough so we could take her to Gulet.’

‘But why didn’t you stop when you knew she was sick?’ Iorveth demanded.

Isengrim shook his head.

‘Skylark hid her condition well. And she wouldn’t stop for the world. She wanted to warn her guardians.’ He looked at Saeros, then jerked his chin towards Iorveth. ‘She wanted to warn you.’

For a few moments, Iorveth was stunned. Then his lips opened, and he buried his face in his palm.

Saeros didn’t leave much time to him to pull himself together.

‘Fox, frankly, I don’t care what you will do. I don’t know why my _sor’ca_ trusted you… I’m pretty sure I don’t. Just give us the correspondence and you are free to go, wherever you want.’

Iorveth slowly lifted up his head.

‘Are you going to Gulet now?’ he asked.

Saeros lightly nodded.

‘Aye. Still got job to be done there.’

Iorveth gave him a slightly visible sneer, but kept his voice calm.

‘If it is not beneath your precious dignity, I want to ask you something.’

Saeros raised his eyebrow.

‘What would that be?’

Iorveth lowered his head, he closed his eyes.

‘If she dies…put a bouquet of feainnewedd on her grave on my behalf. And if she lives…’

Iorveth reached into his small sidebag and pulled out a piece of red cloth. Geralt recognized it immediately: it was his old bandana.

Iorveth offered the cloth to Saeros.

‘Give this to her. Tell her I ask for her forgiveness. And if she wishes… let she wear it in my memory.’

Saeros took the red cloth away suspiciously.

‘What is your angle, Fox? Feainnewedd flowers on her grave? Making her wear your favor if she lives?’ he asked, his voice bitter. ‘An elven widower bids farewell to his wife with feainnewedd. Elven widows wear their late husband’s tokens.’

Iorveth nodded sadly, but there was some of his old sarcasm in his voice. ‘I am taken aback by your wisdom.’

Saeros looked again at the bandana, then back to Iorveth.

‘But what for...? Why?’

Iorveth didn’t answer for a while.

‘A few weeks ago she asked me who do I need to be now. I didn’t know the answer then. Now, I know.’ He turned to Geralt. ‘I’m going to Vergen with you, Gwynbleidd.’

Myriel jumped up.

'Commander, please...'

Iorveth waved her to stay silent and his voice was resolute. 'I promised I would give you a home. You will have a home, with or without elven-dragon alliances, this I swear.'

Saeros gripped on the red cloth. ‘If you go to Vergen, Fox, you will die.’

Iorveth looked back at him with a scornful expression.

‘Then you can have your drink of joy, golden boy.’  



	31. Who can watch the watchmen?

‘So they have arrived. As I have told you in the past weeks, they would come back.’ Saskia’s voice was resolute and cold.

Arondir stood next to her, his face was like a cool marble statue. They stood on the archway above the Castle of the Three Fathers, looking down to the vestibule of the palace. There, some figures approached the castle entrance; including a half-eyed elf and a white-haired witcher.

‘I still find it extremely curious that you have sent your commander on a diplomatic mission while he is under charges’ he said. ‘In all these weeks, an elven palace was infiltrated, one of my vassals is dead…’

‘I warne ye, sire, it is not a wise act to accuse our queen’ Skalen Burdon interrupted, standing behind Saskia.

Arondir didn’t even bother acknowledge the dwarf's presence. He looked down on the figures again.

‘I am always amused by the fact that whenever there is trouble in the Northern Realms, this witcher is always near’ he remarked, then looked at again on Saskia. ‘That vatth’gern is one thing, but might I ask why don’t you have Iorveth chained at once?’

‘Might I remind ye, Sir, that our general is still not convicted’ Skalen Burdon didn’t even want to sound polite anymore. ‘And address the queen according to her title, if ye may.’

The black haired elf’s look was stern.

‘Your queen can consider herself happy that I had been so patient and did not inform the Emperor about her lack of cooperation.’

Saskia was not confused. ‘You mean, her highness, your Duchess Francesca.’

‘My duchess is constantly in contact with the Emperor’ Arondir said grimly, with obvious threat in his voice, but Saskia did not seem deterred.

‘Well, let’s not make her wait anymore then.’ she said. ‘Please, follow me to the council room.’

She started off her way to the door. Skalen Burdon ran forward to make way for her.

‘What business do we have there?’ the elf asked. ‘I’m ready to set off with the prisoner and would not bother your circles anymore.’

Saskia glanced behind her shoulder.

‘There is someone who wishes to speak to you.’

‘And who might it be?’

Skalen and Saskia exchanged a thoughtful look and did not answer.

As Arondir stepped into the cool stone corridor, Skalen Burdon made a small motion to Saskia. The queen stayed a couple of steps behind the elf and bowed down to the dwarf to hear what he has to say.

‘Lady Saskia, the _daerienn_... ‘ he whispered. Saskia nodded.

‘Tell her to come to the council room’ she whispered back. The dwarf bowed himself, then ran down on another corridor. Saskia looked after him, then joined the impatiently walking Arondir.

* * *

The castle interior was somewhat warmer than the chilly October air outside; however, Vergen’s elven guest did not hold back his icy words. Saskia kept a courteous expression, but did not answer the elven lord’s accusations; she had enough of them in the past few weeks. She was starting to grow up to the role of a sovereign: she did not demand respect from those who didn’t have it for her. Instead, she found the way to silence them.

When they stepped into the council room, she searched for a familiar figure with her eyes, and stopped at the entrance.

‘Let me greet our new guest.’ she said.

Arondir watched her in suspicion as she walked a few paces into the room.

‘Lord Filavandrel of the Silver Tower, I am proud to welcome you under our humble roof.’

Her words echoed in the stone hall and after a moment of silence, a shadow emerged from one the chairs and the proud figure of Filavandrel stood in front of them.

‘I’m grateful for your kindness to accept me in your stronghold, Lady Saskia.’ He bowed to the queen then turned to Arondir. ‘Greetings, Arondir aep Tavassoth.’

Arondir’s face was unfathomable as he looked at Filavandrel. He was taller than the old elf and his stance was threatening and his dark blue eyes glew of hatred.

‘I don’t remember the Council authorizing you to accompany me on my mission, Lord of the Silver Tower.’ he said, not even greeting the old elven lord.

Filavandrel was not angered; in fact, he seemed amused.

‘We would live in quite interesting times, had I had to bother about the Council’s commands if I want to leave my own country’ he said. ‘I am here out of curiosity, ambassador. I wish to see how you achieve success in your mission. After all, we want the same: the wellbeing of our country. Don’t we?’

Arondir’s jaw clenched. It was clear that he did not agree with Filavandrel, but he was wise enough not to say it out loud.

‘I hear the person whom our country accuses, arrived at Vergen’ Filavandrel continued.

Arondir shrugged. ‘You are free to accompany us on our journey home, my lord.’ he said. ‘I’m sure it will be amusing for you.’

‘Not so fast, ambassador.’ Filavandrel stood up and walked up to the throne seats placed at the end of the room, beyond the round council table. He turned to Saskia. ‘Lady Queen, I if you will allow me, I would like to sit with you as I talk to the prisoner.’

Saskia nodded.

‘Of course, lord.’

Arondir stepped forward.

‘So are you now playing ringmaster, old fool?’ he hissed. ‘You lacked the spine in Dol Blathanna, and now you come here and act like the judge of the world?’

Filavandrel patiently waited until Saskia walked up to the thrones and sat down on hers, then he sat down on the throne next to hers.

‘If I were you, I would be careful with my words, ambassador’ he said with slyness in his voice - it was obvious he enjoyed the situation. A shadow of disapproval flew through Saskia’s face, but she did not comment on Filavandrel’s words. ‘We are in a sovereign country, we are talking to its ruler and not to a vassal. You might be accustomed to different manners of speaking, but there were times when we knew how to talk to our prospective allies.’

‘Times when our people starved and came to the brink of extinction.Times when you were our ruler.’ Arondir spat. ‘If I were you, I would not be proud of that.’

Filavandrel’s mouth stiffened.

‘There are other achievements you can be proud of, ambassador.’ he said quietly, but a growing ire was in his voice.

Saskia saw timely to intervene.

‘Lord Filavandrel!’ she exclaimed, talking to the old elf, who looked back at her, seemingly appreciating that the queen addressed him and not the ambassador. ‘My general and his brothers-in-arms are here. I think we are ready to discuss their fate.’

Filavandrel nodded.

‘Indeed, Lady Saskia. If you agree, let them come in.’

He leaned forward on his chair while Saskia waved to a guard at the door. Arondir was obviously irritated, but he couldn’t opposethe lord  anymore without risking a serious clash, so he stood next to Filavandrel’s throne, unwillingly and clearly displeased with the humiliation.

Steps approached on the corridor, the guards accompanied the three arriving figures. Geralt’s white hair and Iorveth’s skinny, eye-patched face was easily recognized, but Saskia didn’t know the third one - an elf, with a huge scar running across his face.

‘I see a traitor attracts another!’ Arondir exclaimed, and the scarred elf sneered.

‘Hi, Tavassoth’ he waved at the ambassador. ‘Have you recovered from that serious ankle fracture you suffered at Brenna?’

Arondir just gasped, not being able to answer in his anger. Filavandrel took the opportunity.

‘Greetings, witcher’ he nodded to Geralt. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Geralt nodded to him - he heard the approval in Filavandrel’s voice.

‘Greetings, Lord of the Silver Tower’ he bowed his head.

Iorveth stood in silence between them. He stiffly bowed to Saskia, but spectacularly did not acknowledge the two other elves.

‘Welcome home, Iorveth’ Saskia told him. ‘I’m glad you successfully returned.’

‘And brought some interesting friends’ Arondir interrupted. ‘I’d never thought Isengrim Faoiltiarna would have the stone to show his face again in the Northern Realms!’

The scarred elf - Isengrim - took one step back, but only to put his hands on his hips. He looked around, his face still cheerful.

‘Oh, I just came for sightseeing’ he said. ‘And while I am at it… to ask for sanctuary from the state of the Pontar Valley.’ He deeply bowed to Saskia; amusement left his face to give place to respect. ‘My lady, I wish to take the law of asylum in your country.’

Saskia leaned forward on her throne, but Arondir preceded her.

‘Give asylum to a wanted criminal?’ he shouted. ‘Queen, if you proceed on accepting this bandit into your country, that shall have serious consequences!’

Filavandrel’s cool voice interrupted.

‘That is not for you to decide, ambassador.’

Arondir turned to him, rage on his face.

‘I am responsible for the foreign policies of our country, my lord.’ he hissed. ‘Would you mind not meddling in my business?’

‘You are the one who meddles in internal business, ambassador’ Filavandrel looked back at him sternly. ‘Whether to engage in a diplomatic disagreement is the decision of the Council, and not one single person… not even of a monarch.’

‘The Council agreed on Iorveth’s extradition!’

‘On Iorveth’s extradition, under certain circumstances’ Filavandrel added. ‘Not a single word was spoken about other Scoia’tael.’

Iorveth stepped forward, not mindig the two elves a bit.

‘Saskia, this is about me’ he said. ‘Dol Blathanna can arrange any kind of melodrama with me, but let my people stay in peace in the Pontar Valley. A country for all, remember?’

The queen agreed with a nod.

‘I grant the right of asylum to Isengrim Faoiltiarna’ she said. As Isengrim thanked her with a deep bow, she turned to Filavandrel. ‘I think we have more urgent matters to tend to.’

‘I agree, Lady’ the old elf nodded.

All eyes turned on Iorveth, who slowly bowed his head towards Saskia. His tangled black hair fell into his face, making him look younger, despite the deep circles under his eye.

‘Before you continue on with this freak show, my beloved countrymen, we have something to present to you’ he said.

As he drew out a package of letters from his bag, a sparkle of hope beamed up on Filavandrel’s face.

‘What have you brought?’

Iorveth stepped forward and gave the papers to Saskia. She took them away, took a glimpse on them, then gave them to the old elf.

‘I think you might be interested, my lord.’

As the letters were given to the old elf, Geralt noticed the slight paleness on Arondir’s face which deepened as the old elf flipped through the papers.

For many minutes, there was deadly silence - then Filavandrel spoke.

‘Ambassador, these letters wear your signatures, the signatures of your vassals… And they speak of remarkably outrageous plans. Dethroning the queen, establishing relationships with secluded communities in the Blue Mountains, a plan of assault on… Nilfgaard? Am I really reading this well?’

Arondir managed to get back his composure.

‘What kind of circus is this?’ he asked, snarling. ‘Do you dare to accuse me, based on some paper slips?’

‘These papers wear your crest and your signature, ambassador!’

‘Obvious forgery!’ Arondir shouted. ‘I am the ambassador of Dol Blathanna, and this’ he pointed at Iorveth’, this is a traitor, a war criminal with no legal position to have anything against me! His word counts for nothing, and neither does any other vagabond’s who accompanies him!’

Filavandrel stared back at him, angrily but Arondir didn’t let him oppose.

‘You know our laws, lord! A castaway has no right to accuse a respectable member of the society!’

‘Respectable member, my ass…’ Iorveth rolled his eyes, but Arondir snarled at him.

‘Keep your mouth shut, filth, you have no right to talk against me!’

‘You only have the right to pave his way to power’ Isengrim said, his low voice filled with despise.

‘You just stay silent, terrorist’ Arondir hissed. ‘You are alive only because as the coward as you are, you escaped justice!’

Isengrim jerked up his head.

‘I escaped the justice of Nilfgaard, your puppeteer!’

‘Enough!’ Filavandrel shouted. ‘It is high time that we, elves finish bickering at last!’

Arondir looked at him, his face twisted into an expression of savage cruelty.

‘Take your philanthropism elsewhere, lord, take it to the time when your people stalked the lands looking after food, scattered, lonely and doomed to fall.’ he said. ‘You are the voice of the past, and you, savages, are the remnants of a bygone age! I and my comrades build the future, and I don’t know what have you conspired against us, these slips are as good as shitting papers! You have no name, you are outlaws - and Dol Blathanna will see your end at last!’

‘We’ll see about that, lord.’ A woman’s voice cut into the silence.

Surprised, they all turned to the door.

* * *

 

‘You… you… it can’t be, you are dead!’ Arondir whispered, his face became ghostly pale within a moment as he stared at the two approaching women.

There was a red- and an auburn-haired woman. The red-haired was leading the other woman on her arms; she obviously was weak and her face was sunken, but her eyes sparkled with resolution as she looked at Arondir.

‘Really?’ she asked without expecting an answer.

'Triss!' Geralt recognized the sorceress, who lightly blushed.

'We came from Gulet yesterday' she said. 'Ildi is a bit better now.'

Ildico smiled at her, then released her comrade’s hand and stepped forward, bowing to Filavandrel.

‘Lord, my name is Angelika aep Tavassoth, wife of Arondir aep Tavassoth, and as such, I am a subject of the Dol Blathannan jurisdiction’ she said. ‘I wish to exercise my right and evoke the Right of the Namegiver in favor of Iorveth, general of the Pontar Valley.’

‘Ildico!’ Iorveth cried out, his voice woven from anger, surprise and gladness.

Arondir’s voice followed.

‘Filthy dh’oine whore, dare to speak one more word…’

The woman’s face wrinkled for a moment, but she didn’t turn to Iorveth or Arondir. She continued to look at the old elven lord who stood up from his chair, waving at the other elves.

‘Silence!’ he shouted, then turned to Ildico. 'I know you.'

Ildi nodded.

'I danced with you a few weeks ago, at Cysgodol.'

Filavandrel nodded. He looked at Iorveth then back at Ildico.

'So it seems you have a tradition of taking elven husbands, lady.' he said sarcastically.

Ildico could hardly hide a smile, but she shook her head.

'The Woodland Fox is not my husband, lord' she said. 'We infiltrated the castle as a part of a plan… to get those letters you now hold in your hand.'

Filavandrel lifted up the papers he still held in his hand.

'How did you know where should you find these?'

Ildi bowed.

'As I said, I am  Angelika aep Tavassoth, wife of Arondir aep Tavassoth. I had connections to my husband's vassals, I saw many of his dealings, I knew what he was planning.'

'Bitch!' Arondir barked, but the elven lord cut him off.

'I am still talking to this human, ambassador.' he said calmly and turned back to Ildico. ‘ _Luned me_ , you cannot be the one you claim yourself. Angelika aep Tavassoth died in an accident twelve years ago… or so we were told.’ he said.

Ildico jerked up her head.

‘Ask my husband if he had ever seen my corpse’ she said. ‘Ask him if there was anything in that coffin he placed in the crypt.’

Filavandrel turned to Arondir.

‘Ambassador?’ he asked.

Arondir gritted his teeth, but obviously, he was still not over his first astonishment.

‘Do you really believe a word this slut says, _fraere_?’ he hissed.

Filavandrel raised an eyebrow.

‘You made clear with your first words that you know her.’

‘I know many dh’oine!’ Arondir spatted. ‘That doesn’t mean I have connections with either of them? You forced me to marry one of these mongrels, thankfully my fate freed me of her twelve years ago - what else am I to tell about this? What have I done that you feel free to judge me?’

‘What have you done?’ asked Ildico in silent whisper, yet all of them heard the tremor in her voice. Two small teardrops ran down on her face.

Filavandrel looked at her with compassion, but he was still uncertain.

‘If you really are Angelika aep Tavassoth - tell me, what did your husband do?’ he asked. ‘How is it that you are alive?’

Ildico lowered her head, but quickly regained her posture as Triss gently touched her shoulder. She gave a quick smile to her friend, then stepped forward and slowly unbuttoned her shirt, lowering it next to her left leg, revealing her naked upper body.

Geralt took a step back, Iorveth gasped, even Isengrim put his hand on his mouth as they watched the woman. Her shoulders and small breasts were like the body of any young human woman, but her left breast was disfigured by a huge, healed scar that ran down on her stomach, down her abdomen, disappearing next to her left iliac crest, into her trousers. The scar was obviously cut with a blunt weapon; the stitches were still visible, not even being able to follow a single line.

‘If my husband had had his way, I would be dead’ she said, her voice hollow. ‘I was eight month pregnant when he heard about the Vengerberg pogrom and wanted to avenge his folk… He took a knife, ripped me up, and killed my child, making sure I would never mother another infant again... If it hadn’t been for some dear friends who saved me and hid me during all these years, I would’ve been no more. I had to disappear, or the nonhuman quarters of the Northern Realms would have been consumed by raids and pogroms. I was hid from my family, hid from the one I had to marry.’ She looked up to Filavandrel. ‘Forgive me, Lord of the Silver Tower. I was meant to be peace and I couldn’t guarantee it…’

She lowered her head, crossing her arms around her body, trying to cover her torso.

Saskia stood up, and as she stepped to the smuggler, she took off her wine red cloak, preparing to lay it on the half-naked woman’s back - but Iorveth was quicker to get to her. He touched the smuggler’s bare shoulder gently, then took the cloak away from Saskia and folded the smuggler into the soft clothing. Saskia stood back, lightly smiling.

The smuggler looked up to Iorveth.

‘ _Squass’me_ ’ she whispered.

Iorveth shook his head.

‘ _Bloede dh’oine… bloede dh’oine_.’ He clutched her tightly into his arms, kissing her forehead. ‘You should dance on my grave, singing a victory song… not ask for my forgiveness.’

‘Well, that can be arranged.’

Iorveth and Ildi jerked up their heads to look at Arondir. The elf watched the woman, despising.

‘I always knew you were a wretched creature, but now I see that I was more than right, my dear.’ He took a step towards them. Ildico shivered, while Iorveth tightened his hold around her, watching Arondir menacingly.

‘Don’t come any closer’ he hissed.

Arondir laughed out loudly.

‘An elf, what is more, a Scoia’tael, threatening an elf because of a human whore… what a time to be alive!’ He looked at Ildico again. ‘Tell me, dear: do you think these people here would lift a finger for you, were not for their intentions? Do you think if they had the slightest chance to get back our lands, to restore our people’s glory, they would hesitate for a moment to crush you down? That old bastard, thinking himself to be the judge of all? Your romantic bandit sweetheart? You can be sure, my little wife: you would be but an insect to be crushed and never thought about again.’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Iorveth shouted, glaring at Arondir with ferocious anger, but his face grew grey to see how Ildico slowly slipped out of his arms. Her expression changed; from silent determination to desperation.

Arondir turned to Iorveth. The Scoia’tael leader snarled at the other elf.

‘Leave her alone!’ he hissed.

Arondir measured him despisingly.

‘You know well that I’m right, Fox.’ he said. ‘You have been killing dh’oine for a century without giving them any second thoughts, you knew that to reach your goal, you have to sacrifice your own. How dare you tell me to stay silent? We are different in but one thing: you stand without position, you are nothing standing in front of me, as you are under charge!’

‘He is not.’ Ildico stepped forward. ‘By my Right of the Namegiver, I give my name to him, so Iorveth stands in front of you as your equal!’

‘You just shut your mouth, stupid slut!’ Arondir shouted.

‘You recognized this woman as your wife which means she is right’ Filavandrel interrupted. ‘Angelika aep Tavassoth is still your spouse. As such, she has the right to evoke the Right of the Namegiver and she has to right to evoke it in favor of Iorveth!’

Arondir was speechless of indignation, his face was burning with anger.

‘Well, it seems, with all those papers, you are in kind of a trouble, ambassador’ Isengrim spoke with sarcasm in his voice.

Arondir moved so fast as a thunderbolt. Within a blink of an eye, he drew his sword and would have thrown himself onto Ildico in the next moment if Iorveth hadn’t been cautious and pushed him away, causing the ambassador to lose his balance.

‘Have you gone soft, ambassador?’ Iorveth hissed, pushing the surprised Ildico behind him. ‘Have you really thought that I wouldn’t recognize an attack?’

Arondir heaved as he lifted up his sword. Triss grabbed Ildico and stood back, Geralt and Isengrim also took a step away from the two elves, clearing the way for them.

‘Are you really defending a dh’oine? Do you really want to fight me, your kinsman, for a filthy human? How many of her kind have you killed?’ Arondir shouted, flinging his sword in his hand. ‘You are a disgrace to your race, terrorist!’

‘Maybe I am’ Iorveth replied. ‘But unlike you, I never betrayed anyone whom I swore to protect!’

Arondir spoke no more. He rallied at Iorveth with a howl. The Scoia'tael evaded the attack and dodged away on the floor, but within a blink of an eye, he was on his feet again, ready to fight Arondir with his bare hands, but it didn't come to that.

'Iorveth, catch!' Geralt cried out and tossed a sword to Iorveth.

The commander caught the sword just in time to parry another attack.

Arondir's face resembled that of an otherworldly ghost, he lost all sparkles of a living creature's soul as his anger disfigured his features. Iorveth could hardly gain his stance back, the ambassador was so fast, but soon it became obvious that he was aiming for tiring Arondir out.

The ambassador's movements soon became sloppy, indeed.

'Are you not ashamed, Fox?' he wheezed, his long black hair stuck to his sweating face. 'If you felt any responsibility for your people, you would have come with me the first time I demanded your extradition!'

'I will leave spectacular sacrifices for you, ambassador' Iorveth snarled. 'My folk are more important to me than a fucking show!'

Arondir howled out and he managed to kick Iorveth's left knee. The commander fell onto his knee, crying out, hardly being able to evade Arondir's smite.

'Kick the bastard's ass, Iorveth!' Isengrim shouted.

'Watch out!' Ildico cried, then crouched in a sudden coughing cramp, Triss held her tightly.

Iorveth jerked his head up with concern in his eye, but he still remembered fighting skills enough not to be deflected and he was able to parry the ambassador's sword with a counterattack - slipping his own sword into the other elf's chest.

At first, Arondir was simply stunned, like he wouldn't believe what happened. He looked down at the sword standing out of his chest, then to Iorveth.

'I hope you are proud of yourself' he sighed, blood trails emerging from his mouth.

Iorveth grabbed the hilt resolutely.

'I've never been more proud' he hissed and with a sudden movement, pulled out the sword from Arondir's chest.

The ambassador took a few steps, then collapsed on the ground and he was no more.

Iorveth looked down on the corpse, then at the sword, dripping with the ambassador's blood. He turned to Geralt.

'Your silver sword? What the hell, witcher?' he asked with a sad half smile.

Geralt shrugged.

'I didn't really have time to select' he answered.

Iorveth slightly nodded, then turned to Filavandrel. The light expression immediately left his face, his features became stern and cold.

'Add this monster to my list of sins, oh, Lord of the Silver Tower' he said, spitefully. 'Then tell your judgment, but never forget that your pride killed just as many of our folk as Arondir's actions or mine. You tossed us out of our home, so we found a home here, in Vergen. I am Queen Saskia's subject, I owe my loyalty only to her… and to my people. I do not owe apology to you, neither to your _daerienn_ queen, I owe apology to no one, except… this human.'

He looked at Ildico and his face was overridden with sorrow, rejuvenating and aging him at the same time, in his green eyes something that was not present in his gaze for decades: remorse. 'I owe apology only to this _bloede dh'oine_. The Skylark of the Northern Realms, Ildico Ferenczy, Angelika aep Tavassoth, whatever you are called, the only thing I ask for is your forgiveness!'

All eyes turned to the auburn-haired woman, who stood stunned in Triss's arms.

' _Luned me_ ' Filavandrel's voice broke the silence. He spoke to Ildico and didn't seem to be bothered about Iorveth's accusations. 'What is your answer to the Fox's plea?'

Ildico lowered her head, then slowly lifted her face to look at Iorveth. Their gazes formed an alliance between elf and human that has not been seen for centuries in the Northern Realms and the smuggler reached for her sidebag, to pull out a worn red cloth. She lifted it to her lips and closed her eyes.

Iorveth nodded, sighing, then turned to Filavandrel.

'So come on, lord… deliver your judgment!'


	32. A sentence of time (Epilogue)

Triss stood on the stone balcony of her old quarter, bathing her face in the chilly November dawn above Vergen. The city still slept, but some inhabitants were already awake - or never even went to bed.

Tris recognized the steps before their owner would have spoken a word.

'Good morning, witcher' she said, not moving her head. She heard Geralt standing next to her.

For a while, he remained silent.

'I… I came to say goodbye, Triss' he said finally. 'I'm leaving Vergen.'

The sorceress felt a sting of ache in her heart but she was surprised to feel it pass just as quickly.

'Where will you go?' she asked.

'To Kaer Morhern' Geralt answered, hesitating. 'Vesemir offered me help in finding…. Yennefer' he rubbed his cheek unfomcortably. 'And it's a long road since I have walked the witchers' path. It's my job, after all…'

'You have done quite well in politics as well' Triss replied sarcastically, finally looking at him. 'At least, Saskia was impressed with your accomplishments.'

Geralt made a grimace, then he shook his head.

'This day was not mine.'

Triss shrugged.

'You cannot always be the hero, witcher.'

Geralt scratched his head.

'Hell, I don't really mind. I rarely see nice stories in these lands. I don't know what will come of this transnorthern fellowship, but Filavandrel now is much different than the last time I met him, he might even make the good out of it. What he told Iorveth…'

'Well, Iorveth seemed kind of relieved when he heard that he was still banished from Dol Blathanna' Triss chuckled.

Geralt smiled then continued to speak.

'You know, I wish I could take some of your friend's true love with me. It would be very helpful in lifting curses. The world has too few stories like that of Vincent Meis and Carmen.'

'If Dandelion has anything to say about it, the story of ' _The Fox and the Skylark_ ' will become a major hit in the Northern Realms soon' Triss said.

'What a tacky title is that?'

Triss shrugged. 'Ask Dandelion, maybe you can change his mind.'

Geralt growled. 'I already said goodbye to that jerk, but I might go back to the inn one more time.'

Triss gave him a sad smile, then stared back to the rising sun.

'Triss... ' Geralt spoke again. 'I also wanted to apologize. I… I made a mistake.'

'Don't mention it, Geralt.'

'No, it's not fine' Geralt said. 'I should have listened to you.'

'You didn't trust Ildi… and you didn't trust me. You had every reason for both.'

Geralt didn't answer for a few moments. Then he gently touched Triss's shoulder, but the sorceress slowly drew back from his hand.

'No, Geralt… please' she said. 'It's fine.'

The witcher slowly nodded.

'All right' he said. 'See you soon, Triss.'

'You too, witcher' Triss replied. Listening to the sound of the retreating footsteps, she found surprisedly that the sorrow she felt unbearable a few weeks ago, started to fade away.

Her heart skipped a beat though when she heard another person approaching behind her back.

Isengrim put his elbows next to her on the parapet.

'Enjoying your new hometown, Wolf?' Triss asked.

Isengrim gave her his misshapen smile - because of his scar, he always looked like he was grinning, but the sorceress quickly learned to decrypt his facial expressions during their voyage and time in Gulet. They spent a few days together in the Songbird headquarters, discussing the situation with Saeros and nursing over Ildico until Isengrim, Myriel and Saeros left to find Iorveth. After their first meeting, Isengrim slowly started to trust Triss and the sorceress found herself sorrowful when they said goodbye. He smiled at her back then as well, and his smile now was just as warm.

_Triss Merigold, will you get a hold of yourself?_

'I cannot make my ass comfortable though, soon we will have to leave for Redania with Iorveth' he said.

'Redania? Not as ambassadors, I presume?'

'Not so. We have to do what we do best: sneaking, scouting and killing. I might tell you more someday, but right now, it is a top secret mission.' He winked. 'That's why I'm leaving in daylight.'

Triss laughed, feeling so relieved she didn't feel in a long, long time. Not like Isengrim's words would have been that funny - it was the fact that she was talking to someone who wanted to make her smile.

'And where is your comrade?' she looked around.

'He's telling his own farewells' Isengrim poked his chin towards a lower terrace level, where Ildico's room was designated. 'I hope he won't make it too long.. that girl's coughs are still quite ugly.'

Triss nodded. In the past few weeks, after the trial, she did everything in her power to heal her friend. Pneumonia was a tough sickness to cure though; Triss was afraid that Ildi would never regain her complete health again. There are things even magic or the best healing cannot patch up.

'And you, _daerienn_?' the Iron Wolf asked suddenly. 'What will you do?'

Triss lowered her head, looking at the stones on the parapet.

'I will head to Novigrad.' she whispered and she heard the tears building up in her eye. 'I heard that mage hunting has become very intensive there. I want to help escape as many of my fellow mages as possible. I want to do something.. right.'

Isengrim turned to her with all his body, looking at her thoughtfully.

'Triss, if it wasn't for you, this whole story would have gotten a very different outcome. You saved your friend, and by doing so, you helped Iorveth, you helped me, you helped our people, you helped our possible future alliances.' he said, and this time, his voice was more solemn than ever before. 'You went against all odds, you were even ready to give up your loyalty to follow what your heart told you, what you felt right. Not many people have such strength.'

Triss looked back into the deep blue, clear, mandel-shaped eyes.

'Thank you' she said, smiling.

Isengrim shrugged and the boyish gleam returned to his eyes.

'Not at all, sorceress, not at all.'

Triss hesitated for a moment before she asked:

'Will I see you in Novigrad?'

The Iron Wolf raised his eyebrows and smiled wickedly.

'Do you want to see me?'

Triss didn't answer - she felt a wave of shyness flowing through her, but she quickly regained her bravery, leaned over and kissed the Iron Wolf softly. Her stomach flipped as she felt his lips moving against hers as he kissed back, just as gently as the sorceress did. Triss felt his fingers running through her hair. His lips felt wet and moist like a leaf in a rainy forest, the remains of the scar resembling a rough branch.

She wanted so much more - but now was not the time.

She slowly broke off the kiss and felt herself blushing as she straightened her back again. She half-expected Isengrim to make a remark, but the Iron Wolf just smiled lightly.

' _Va fail_ , Triss Merigold' he nodded slowly and walked down on the stairs.

Triss sighed and leaned back again on the parapet. It was time for her to leave as well, but she wanted to enjoy the moment as long as she could.

* * *

**Novigrad, 1273, June**

Night slowly fell on Novigrad, but life was just starting in Rosemary and Thyme.

'And this is how it happened, poet laureate of our age' the auburn-haired woman leaned back into her chair and looked at the cuckoo clock on the wall. 'But if you please forgive me, I have to take a break from listening to your wonderful poems.'

'You know when I will give my works to you for peer review again, Ildico!' the bard cried out, putting his hand on his hip, taking away the papers the smuggler gave back to him.

Ildico patted on his shoulder.

'There, there, don't overact' she said. 'Many parts are quite great. And at many parts, you don't lie too hard either.'

'It's your luck that your story is so much more charming than you are, Skylark' Dandelion said grimly.

'Don't be such a drama king, boy. I brought you some really nice guests, don't you remember?' She waved to the neighbouring table where Ciaran and Myriel sat, drinking the house's best wine, clearly having a good time. Ildico leaned closer to Dandelion. 'Please, don't let them get too wet. When Triss and I return with the mages, they have to be on their guard.'

'You can count on me, Skylark' Dandelion whispered back. 'But as for the poem…'

He couldn't finish, because the smuggler took on her cloak and quickly sneaked out from the inn. Dandelion rolled his eye then started his way off to the table of the two elves.

* * *

The smuggler nearly cried out as a strong hand clenched on her upper arm, but within a moment, she recognized the touch and rolled next to the cloaked, mysterious figure who stood closely next to the inn wall, half-hidden by a bush. She felt his hot breath on her skin.

‘Hey, smuggler’ Iorveth greeted her.

‘Hey, rogue' she answered. ' You know you could have come in. Dandelion always welcomes you.'

'But that requires talking to him and I'm not in that mood now.' Iorveth rubbed his cheeks, then slid his arm on the woman's waist. She leaned closer to him, noticing an approaching city patrol, pulling his other hand onto her thigh.

'Here, don't be too conspicuous' she whispered. 'Act like I was a whore until those jackasses go away.'

Iorveth winked at her.

'You needn't ask twice.'

Ildi chuckled, then she moaned as the elf kissed into her neck, grabbing her thigh hard, pushing his groin to her hips.

'You're too good…' she breathed and he smiled against her skin.

'I don't do half-ass jobs, _elaine me_ ' he answered and continued kissing her, watching the patrol from the corner of his eye. The soldiers didn't mind them, they were just one of the many customer-prostitute pairings. Not a rare sight in Novigrad.

As the patrol disappeared in a side alley, Iorveth said:

'They are gone.'

Ildi looked above her shoulder, then leaned her head on the elf's chest. 'Pity.' she murmured then looked up to the elf. 'How's your plan going?'

Iorveth shrugged and a cruel smile ran through his lips. 'Isengrim managed to meet Adda. Geralt also had some interesting meetings... it's better I was not there.'

'Why?'

'Because Philippa Eilhart herself offered him help in killing that little mongrel...'

'And? If Philippa helps us, won't you forgive her?'

'Philippa Eilhart always has a second thought and I don't want to wait to see what would it be' Iorveth snarled. 'This northern alliance of queens... Hell, I hope they know what they are doing. I'm  worried about Saskia.'

'Saskia is tougher than you'd think. She made a fine deal with Meve and Francesca, she's not that bad of a politican!' Ildi remarked, but her words were cut by a slight coughing cramp. Iorveth watched her with anxiety. Each winter, the sickness returned... more or less severely.

The elf growled and pulled the woman closer, caressing her hair. Even in the light of the city torches, he noticed silvery glimmers; thin, barely visible grey strokes in her auburn hair. Running his fingers down her face, he felt the tiny, new wrinkles in the corner of her eyes and his heart sunk.

_Three years... Gods, it's only been three years...  
_

'Won't you stay for a little longer?' he said lowly, and he felt her headshake against his chest.

'I need to find Triss. I promised her.'

Iorveth slowly released his embrace.

'Go then, while there are no patrols in the vicinity' he said.

Ildico nodded. She bowed to Iorveth for a last kiss, then pulled up her cloak and soon disappeared in the street.

Iorveth leaned to the wall, watching the cobbles of Novigrad, remembering Filavandrel's words that day in the Castle Of The Three Fathers.

_It is not in my power to overwrite the verdicts of Dol Blathanna - you are still banished and not welcome there, for the many lives you have taken. As for your sentence... You want me to deliver judgment, Fox? Now, I think I am not the one who should impose that on you. You have chosen your fate... and your fate will pass your judgment.  
_

The elf closed his eye and thought about the silvery shine in Skylark's hair. He stayed there for long, leaning against the wall.

Then it started to rain and Iorveth hissed in anger - maybe it was time to enter the Rosemary and Thyme at last. He took a last glance at the dark alley and started his way to the back entrance. He rubbed his cheek when he felt a drop of water rolling down on his skin.

_Why does it always rain in this damned town?_

 

THE END

* * *

 

So we arrived to the finish. It was a hell of a ride. There were times when I thought I would never finish this story, but you kept me going so thank you very much for your support and kind comments. It's been a pleasure and I hope I could entertain you a little with this merry band of misfits. It's so strange, this is the first long story that I have ever finished and now I start to understand why I never came to an end: because I wanted the characters to stay with me as long as they can. But they have their own lives, I have to let them go.

A very special thanks to TwilightFalls for the hard work in proofreading some chapters and to Ofratko for keeping up my spirit and never letting me down.  
  
I wish the very best to all of you, guys!

 


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